


Unfinished Business

by Somniare



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Between series 6 and 7, Case Fic, Death of minor character, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Moderate Violence, Spook Me Multi-Fandom Halloween Ficathon, angry ghost, references to childhood physical abuse of main character, spoilers for The Dead of Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:57:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 51,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somniare/pseuds/Somniare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even in the daylight, there was little to see; however, the still rising smoke beyond the trees suggested the fire continued to smoulder.</p><p>James wished he could feel something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> Possible triggers: physical assault of main character resulting in injury.
> 
> Many, many thanks to AZombieWrites for Spookreading and to Small_Hobbit for beta and Brit-pick.
> 
> The story was tweaked after beta. All errors with characters, plot, spelling and grammar are mine.
> 
> Written for the Spook Me Multi-Fandom Ficathon on LJ
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own them, just playing. Promise to put them back safely.

 

 

“Bloody hell, what's in here?” James Hathaway grunted heavily, as he sank deeply at the knees and readjusted his grip on the deceptively heavy box.  
  
“Just books.  Here.”  Lewis bobbed down and took hold of the opposite side of the box.  “Wouldn’t have thought it’d be a problem for a strong lad like yourself?”  
  
James grunted again as the box shifted slightly.  With Lewis helping it was embarrassingly light.  “I, ah, had a... I didn’t sleep as well as normal last night.  Must have been the anticipation of spending the day with you, sir.”  
  
“Away, ya daft git.”  Lewis grinned at James’s smirk.  
  
Together, they carried the final box out of the flat and into the back of the small van Lewis had hired.  
  
“I really appreciate your help with this today, James, especially on such short notice.”  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
James had been delighted to receive the call.  He’d known Lewis was moving from his compact one-bedroom flat to his new tidy three-bedroom terrace in New Marston that weekend, and had been set to help him move.  However, James had then been put on notice he may have to attend a conference with CS Jean Innocent on the same weekend.  In the end it had been DI Laxton who’d drawn the short straw but, by the time James was informed, Lewis had all ready arranged for his son-in-law, Tim, to come down from Manchester on the Saturday to help.  James had said nothing, assuming if Lewis needed two pairs of hands he’d ask.  
  
No-one had counted on Tim waking up on the Saturday morning covered with chicken pox.  
  
Lewis had called James before lunch.  
  
“Sorry for interrupting your weekend, James, but...  I could really use your help if you’re available.”  
  
James had gone on alert; his first thought was Tim had been involved in an accident.  Though concerned for Tim – they’d met a couple of times and James liked him – James had relaxed as Lewis explained and assured him Tim wasn’t seriously ill.  
  
“...our Lyn doesn’t want me tackling the move on me own and...”  
  
“I’d be glad to help.  What time do you need me to come over?”  
  
“If you’ve got plans, don’t change them on my account.  It’s not as though I have great load of stuff, and I've got a handtruck.  I’m sure I can manage, and what Lyn doesn't know won't hurt her, or me.”  
  
“It won’t be a problem, sir.  There’s nothing happening that can’t be rescheduled.”  _There’s nothing happening at all._   James had grimaced at the white lie.   
  
Using his own car, James followed Lewis in the van across to the new house.  He’d been there once before, as he and Lewis had both recently been looking for new places to live.  The owner of James’s building was undertaking major renovations then selling the flats.  No leases were being renewed, nor were they being broken, and work was commencing in each flat as it became vacant.  James still had six months left on his lease, for which he was thankful as he’d been struggling to find somewhere suitable within his budget.  Lewis had simply decided it was time for a larger, more permanent, home.  He wasn’t happy Lyn and Tim had to book into a hotel when they visited him in Oxford, and he couldn’t in good conscience continue to let James sleep on the couch on the increasing number of nights he stayed over.  
  
Lewis had been looking at two-bedroom flats in the area around his old flat, and it was James who’d pointed out the larger terrace.  While it was further from the station, the distance wasn’t excessive and the commute would be relatively easy.  The asking price was at the higher end of what he was looking for, but it was still affordable.  Lewis didn’t have massive expenses, unlike James with his cigarettes and single malts, and he’d thought it might even be an incentive to cut down on the number of takeaway meals he relied on and learn to cook more for himself.  
  
*****  
  
The van had to be returned to the hire firm by five that evening and they’d managed with ten minutes to spare.  James had once again followed Lewis, and they drove back to the old flat to collect Lewis’s car.  
  
James pulled up in front of the building.  
  
“I’ll see you at the office tomorrow morning, James.”  
  
James hid his disappointment.  Though he just wanted to curl up and try to sleep, he’d hoped for an invitation to dinner, and would have happily agreed to unpack some boxes to earn it – anything to avoid going back to the nearly vacant building he currently called home.  
  
“Eight on the dot.”  James forced a smile.  “Good night.”

James swallowed down a yawn as he waved goodbye and pulled back into the road.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Despite the weak light of the half moon, the darkness surrounding the huge hall was almost complete.  It was an old estate and many of the trees surrounding it were over three hundred years old, though some were younger, perhaps only seventy or so.  Their height and number successfully blocked what little light nature tried to cast, as though the groundskeepers over the years had deliberately tried to shelter the building from prying eyes.  Artificial light was no more successful at dispelling the gloom.  Even if the electricity had still been connected to the estate, very few of the light fittings, internal or external, remained functional, and the hall itself was far enough from the road to be untouched by the street lights.  

  
The vile acts which had occurred here had become common knowledge, brought to light by murder and madness.  Though fact and hearsay had swiftly become entwined, one ‘fact’ rang through it all: the last marquess had been a monster.  Many now believed he wasn’t the first.  Those who had lived in the area all their lives, many whose parents had been day labourers in the house and grounds, were convinced the evil was genetic, and the hall and its masters had become a tale to threaten small children with.  A small, determined group were of the opinion the house itself was the source of the evil and had petitioned for the building to be razed and the grounds salted.  The council’s unofficial position was that the leaders of the group had read far too many horror novels – and not necessarily good ones, either.  
  
The first shapes crept from the shelter of the trees.  Hunched figures scurried between the shadows, taking no chance of being seen by the single security guard whose job it was to spend a twelve hour shift patrolling the grounds.  They were weighed down by their ‘tools’.  It would have been easier in winter when the cold kept the guard inside one of the out buildings for long periods of time, but for what they had planned, the unusually long, hot and dry summer had set the ideal conditions.   
  
There were ten of them altogether.  They entered the empty hall, spreading out as they passed through the main door.  The rules were simple: thirty minutes and get out, meet back at the main gate.  If the council wouldn’t act voluntarily, they’d force them to act.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

James had half-dressed himself one-handed before the duty sergeant rang off, and automatically called Lewis.  He groaned softly at the ache in his lower back and could only wonder how his governor was faring.  He dropped onto the bed when Lewis, who sounded more awake than he should have reasonably been, answered.  
  
“Where’d you say it was, James?”  
  
James repeated the address.  
  
“You sit tight lad, and I’ll swing by and get you.  It’s pointless taking two cars out that way.”  
  
James dropped onto his couch to wait.  All he wanted to do was lie down again, but he doubted he’d sleep.  He was one of only two tenants remaining in the building, and the owner had commenced renovating the vacated flat above his.  The hollowness of the building magnified its creaks and groans, and James was convinced a cat or other small animal was prowling the empty spaces at night.  James wasn’t normally a light sleeper, but since his adjoining neighbour had moved out two weeks earlier he’d found himself waking with the various noises and unable to get back to sleep.  With the call-outs on top of that, he’d only been managing to get around four or five hours sleep a night and it had caught up with him.  
  
The sharp rap at the door made him start.  He hauled himself out of the couch.  
  
*****  
  
They swept past the high walls of Crevecoeur estate, the place James had called home until he was twelve, dark and abandoned since Augustus Mortmaigne, the twelfth Marquess Tigan had been arrested for child abuse and sexual assault.  He’d died in prison a few months later, escaping his punishment and leaving others to suffer in his wake.  James’s childhood friend from his days on the estate, Paul Hopkiss, had been one of Mortmaigne’s targets and had ultimately fallen under the thrall of Mortmaigne.  Paul believed wholeheartedly the Marquess had needed him to protect his interests, committing murder to fulfil what he saw as his duty; he’d nearly claimed James as his final victim.  Paul had lured Scarlett, Mortmaigne’s daughter, into his madness.  With the aid of a powerful London barrister, she had eventually been acquitted of all charges and had left England.  James thought she’d gone to Australia, but he’d never bothered to it follow up.  Paul still languished in a secure facility, his mind having closed in on itself when he was told of Mortmaigne’s death.  James had visited him once.  Nothing could compel him to go back.  James shuddered.  
  
The tall iron gates flashed past.  James thought he saw a small flare of light, like a match being struck.  Another kid on a dare, no doubt, hyped up on tales of ghosts and evil spirits.  His derisive snort was swiftly followed by a yawn he couldn’t stop.  
  
“James?”  
  
“It’s nothing.”  
  
James stared out of the windscreen as they sped past the boundary of the estate, leaving it behind them as they continued on towards their crime scene.  He’d followed the aftermath of those brief days at Crevecoeur closely.  He’d kept his interest from Lewis, as he was certain Lewis wondered if he had also been one of Mortmaigne’s victims.  James knew it wouldn’t have been a big leap for anyone to make.  Tall and slim, he and Paul weren’t physically dissimilar, though Paul was darker.  James had come to believe it was his fairness which had spared him, as Mortmaigne had shown a strong preference for brunettes.  
  
Upon the arrest of Augustus, all of the staff had been dismissed, and the tenants instructed to leave, an outcome which had created bad blood.  His son, Titus, had been furious but unable to do anything about it.  After Mortmaigne’s death the entire estate, apart from endowments to Scarlet and his widow, Selina, had ultimately passed to Titus.  It was held in trust until his twenty-first birthday.  He had refused to return to Crevecoeur, and relinquished the title of Marquess Tigan.  He sold off most of the furniture and artworks, donated the estate and family papers to a local history group, and the entire property had been sold to a developer.  In the ensuing years, as one plan after the other was rejected by the planning authorities, the property had fallen prey to vandals, illegal raves, and kids on dares.  
  
James pulled his attention back to the present as Lewis turned into the cul de sac they'd been directed to, and stopped the car in front of the semi-detached house.  By the car headlights they could see the pathologist, Dr Laura Hobson, talking to a uniformed sergeant by the gate.  The sleeves of her scene suit were tied around her waist.  In deference to the warm evening, she was wearing a sleeveless top and fanning herself with something in her left hand.  
  
“Do you get the feeling we may not be needed here, James?”  Lewis frowned lightly.  “Come on.  Let’s see what’s going on.”  
  
Laura looked up as they approached the gate.  She looked tired, her blonde hair tousled and finger-combed.  “Good evening, or should I say, good morning, gentlemen.”  She covered her yawn with her hand.  James barely managed to stop his own in response.  He was going to have to get a decent sleep soon.  He’d experienced disrupted sleep before, at university and on the job, and was confident one or two good nights should see him right.  
  
“Laura.”  Lewis gently touched her arm, his fingers momentarily lingering.  
  
“Dr Hobson.”  James could now see she held a pair of latex gloves.  
  
“I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey,” she huffed.  
  
“Accidental death?  Suicide?”  Lewis looked towards the house.  
  
“Neither.  Mr Gill was merely dead-drunk, and although he did give himself an almighty crack on the head, he’s very much alive.  However, he may well wish he was dead when he starts to sober up.  Someone jumped the gun on this call, and I wouldn’t like to be in their shoes.”  
  
“In fairness, there were three 999 calls received, all mentioning an argument and raised voices before a gunshot,” James pointed out, recalling the details of the duty sergeant's call.  
  
“The ‘victim’ had fallen against the television.  It was smashed but still warm when I arrived, and the DVD player was still running.  The officers first on scene are still inside if you have any questions.  Goodnight, boys.”  She waggled her fingers in a wave and headed towards her car.  
  
Lewis glanced towards the house at the sound of voices.  Two uniformed officers had exited the house, one clearly on the receiving end of a severe bullocking.  “C’mon, James.  We’re not needed here so we’d best be...”  
  
A fire engine roared past the end of the short cul-de-sac, its siren echoing off the houses, quickly followed by another.  
  
“Sir.  Listen.”  James held up a hand and cocked his head to one side, turning his face away from Lewis.  More sirens could be heard.   
  
“Bloody hell.”  Lewis’s awed whisper pulled James’s attention.  He was pointing over James’s shoulder, and James was stunned by the look of disbelief on his face.  He pivoted slowly, following Lewis’s arm.  The sky to the west glowed orange.  James checked his watch.  It was after 3am.  
  
More sirens could be heard in the opposite direction.  
  
“Should we...?”  James gestured towards the intensifying glow.  There was only one property in that direction which could create such a blaze.  He needed to see, to be certain.  
  
Lewis shook his head.  “Call the desk, let them know what’s happened here and tell them we’re available.  No-one will be assigned unless the fire inspectors determine it’s a criminal matter.”  
  
“But, s–”  
  
“Procedure, James.”  
  
“But, it looks as though it could be...”  
  
“Crevecoeur Hall.  I know, James,” he said gently.  
  
James took his phone from his pocket.

 


	2. Monday

Lewis drove James back home by the same route they had taken to the house.  It was soon evident the blaze was at Crevecoeur when they were directed around a series of roadblocks.  With Lewis’s approval, James convinced the duty sergeant to replace himself and Lewis at the top of the rotation.  Lewis dropped James at home close to 4am, with instructions to try and get some rest.  
  
“Nine’s early enough, James.  If I find out you’ve gone in earlier, I might be inclined to send you home.”  
  
Though he was very tired, James was also restless.  After tossing and turning for nearly half an hour, he got up, made himself a coffee and turned on the telly.  He dropped into the couch and flicked through the channels until he found a news report on the fire.  
  
Apart from some aerial footage, most of the images on the television were predominantly of reporters outside the gates, with the glow of fire hidden behind the trees.  The aerial images revealed the fire was seemingly confined to the hall.  Occasional bursts of flame shot from the sides of the building, presumably as a window blew out.  James noted how far back from the building the fire crews had located themselves and couldn’t begin to imagine the heat being thrown out.  
  
James scrubbed his face with his hands.  He checked his watch and was disturbed to register it was nearly seven.  He dragged himself into the bathroom and stared at his reflection in the mirror over the sink.  His tired, bloodshot eyes, and the dark folds of skin underneath, stood out starkly against his washed out features.  If Lewis saw him like this he’d be disappointed.  James showered and changed, and then found the Murine eye drops at the back of the bathroom cabinet – he hadn’t had to use them in months.  Though his fingers felt fat and clumsy, he managed to get the drops in.  His eyes were still red, though not as bad as before.  He left the flat at half seven and drove out towards Crevecoeur.  
  
James reached the first of the road blocks.  He fleetingly considered bluffing his way onto the property.  Only the knowledge CS Innocent and Lewis would ultimately find out stopped him.  He parked a short way up the road and walked to the barriers.  After showing his warrant card he was free to walk to the gates.  He knew he shouldn’t be there, but as long as he stayed off the grounds he wasn’t encroaching on anyone else’s authority.  He recalled the short flash he’d seen and made a mental note to advise the fire investigation team.  James stared through the gates.  Even in the daylight, there was little to see; however, the still rising smoke beyond the trees suggested the fire continued to smoulder.  
  
James wished he could feel something.  
  
*****  
  
Lewis raised his head as James walked in.  
  
“Have you seen the papers?”  
  
James took his time hanging his jacket on the back of his chair and sat down.  “Not yet, but I did see the morning news.”  
  
“How are you?”  
  
James focused on his monitor.  “I’m fine.”  
  
“Okay.”  Lewis dragged the top file out of his in-tray.  
  
James rolled his chair around to face Lewis.  “I think I saw something when we passed the gates to Crevecoeur last night.  It could have been a trick of the light or a match or lighter flame.  I didn’t really think anything of it at the time.”  Lewis nodded slowly.  “But there’s no obvious sign anyone’s been there recently, though I suppose the fire engines could have swept over any evidence.”  
  
“How d’you know there’s no…  You didn’t get any rest after I dropped you off, did you?”  It was a quiet statement of fact, not an accusation.  
  
Lewis’s phone rang, sparing James from giving any sort of response.  
  
“Lewis.”  He made some quick notes.  “Got it.”  He replaced the receiver with great care.  James was watching him cautiously.  “Get your jacket back on.  You’re going to get a closer look.”  
  
*****  
  
They drove to Crevecoeur in silence.  Leaving the car at the gates, they were met by Incident Commander Frank Pearce, the officer in charge of the fire investigation.   
  
“It’s clearly arson.  Even Blind Freddy couldn’t miss the evidence of accelerant use.”  
  
“Any clues at this stage as to the particular accelerant used?” James asked.  
  
“Kerosene.  The place reeks of it.”  
  
The hall loomed up around a bend in the driveway.  There were three engines positioned about fifty metres from the building, and pumps had been set up to utilise the water from the small lake.  James pulled his attention back to Commander Pearce.  
  
“... and sections of the floors and ceilings have either burnt away or collapsed onto lower levels.  The sheer scale of the damage is something I haven’t seen in long time.”  
  
They continued to walk slowly around the building.  The sharp sun and blue sky were a stark contrast to the smoke-blackened stone.  Only a few windows on the upper floors retained all their glass.  The heat from the building had been so fierce trees and shrubs within ten metres of the walls had been destroyed or scorched.   
  
“Whoever did this planned it meticulously,” explained Commander Pearce.  “They knew exactly what they were doing to achieve maximum damage.  By the time the first crews were able to get through the gates, the fire had a fierce hold, forcing our officers to keep a safe distance.  Once they were able to approach the building, however, the fire was swiftly brought under control.  There’re still a few hot spots, and crews are inside working on those, but we should be able to get you inside tomorrow.  It’s a bit of a shame in a way, as the whole building may have to come down.  Even though the exterior’s solid stone, the structural damage is extensive.”  
  
They’d arrived at the rear of the hall.  Through the jagged-edged windows, bulky shapes could be seen moving with due care and caution, helmet-clad heads coming together in discussion.  A quick movement at far end of the hall caught James’s attention, but when he turned his head all he saw were empty windows.  He jumped as a member of the fire crew popped up in a ground floor window.  He decided he must have caught the moment they bent or crouched down.  As he cast his gaze back towards Lewis and Commander Pearce, he was intrigued to see a young woman standing in one of the first floor windows nearer to where they were standing.  She turned her back to him before he saw her face clearly.  Whoever she was, she had not only removed her helmet, but her auburn hair hung loosely over her shoulders.  Surely both actions were in breach of safety regulations?  James yawned suddenly, ducking his head and covering his mouth.  When he looked up, Lewis's slight frown warned him he was going to be gently reprimanded for not taking care of himself.  James glanced back at the window, but the woman was gone.   
  
He quickly assessed the position and dug into his memories.  James didn’t have to think too hard to identify she was in the room above the large kitchen.  In the years before he started school, his father would drop him off at the hall in the morning and he would spend long hours in the kitchen until he was picked up again.  The young woman had been in what he knew as Scarlett’s old playroom.  James had only been in there on a handful of occasions – the estate kids were grudgingly welcomed upstairs.  He did remember it had only ever been used in the winter months as the kitchen chimney ran behind the walls bringing welcome warmth in winter but unwanted heat in summer.  
  
James waited for a break in the Commander’s assessment.  “How many people do you have inside the building?”  
  
“Twenty in total: fifteen are working the hotspots and the other five are ascertaining the structure’s safety before we let anyone else inside.  The last thing we need is for someone to fall through a weakened floor, or to have a wall collapse.”  
  
“And everyone's in full protective equipment?”  
  
“Yes, of course.  Why do you ask?”  Commander Pearce wore a mildly perplexed frown.  
  
James hesitated, looking back up at the window.  He tried to imagine what the conditions were like inside, silently cursing himself for not paying attention.  He supposed it must be hot and uncomfortable.  He didn’t want to cause trouble for someone simply because they’d tried to cool themselves off.  “Merely... confirming the facts, sir,” he stumbled.  Lewis was staring worriedly at him.  
  
Even this close to the damage James didn’t know what he felt.  As he let his eye roam up the outer walls, he thought he saw the young woman pass in front of a second window, moving away from them.  _Moving towards the back staircase_ , thought James.  
  
*****  
  
James jotted down the few facts he’d actually heard when he wasn’t lost in his own world, plus his own impressions – at least, those he was prepared to commit too.  They made their way back to Lewis’s car.  The effect, such as it was, of his coffee and cold shower had long since dissipated and James’s fatigue hit him again.  He stumbled on the uneven driveway.  Only Lewis’s quick reaction, catching him by the elbow, saved him from an undignified, and no doubt painful, landing.  
  
“Steady up, lad.”  
  
James couldn’t look at Lewis.  “I’m okay.  Just tripped,” he muttered.  
  
They drove back in relative silence.  James concentrated on his notebook, trying to remember any further details.  At the station, Lewis pulled into the first available parking space.   
  
“D’you have any thoughts on who might be behind this?” Lewis asked, cutting through James's thoughts.  “Could it be the owners, you think?  The developers?  They have had a lot of trouble trying to get planning approval.”  
  
James shook his head slowly.  “I’d be very surprised.  If Commander Pearce’s assessment is accurate, the fire will be major setback for them.  They were planning to refit the hall into luxury apartments as the first stage of the redevelopment of the site.”  
  
“You’re well informed.”  
  
“I have a particular interest.”  
  
James reached for the door handle.  Lewis’s hand settled on his other arm.  
  
“Are you all right?”  
  
“I can't say I'm sorry to see it destroyed.”  
  
“That’s not what I...”  
  
“Sorry.  I’m fine.  Really.  I, er, just need a coffee.”  James managed an apologetic smile.  
  
Lewis rolled his eyes and gave an amused huff.  “Go on, off you go.  You’ve got twenty minutes, then I want you back at your desk.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
*****  
  
The air in the office was stale.  The air-conditioning had broken down two days earlier and there were only a few opening windows on each floor.  In a normal summer it could have been bearable, but the extended heat of the past weeks seemed to be stored in every brick of the structure and radiated inwards.  James could have hugged Lewis when he suggested going out of the office for lunch.  
  
James snagged a vacant table in the shade while Lewis placed their order.  A slight breeze took the edge off the humidity.  James lay back in his chair and closed his eyes.  
  
“You sure you’re all right?”  James jerked upright at Lewis’s concerned words.  
  
“Yes.  Fine.”  He winced.  His voice was harsher than intended.  He’d been trying to recall any features of the woman’s face.  “Sorry,” he murmured apologetically.  “I’m more tired than I thought.”  
  
“From one night’s broken sleep?  That’s not like you.”  
  
James ducked his head as he considered how much to reveal.  He decided the whole truth was easier than a white lie or any excuses.  Lewis listened without interrupting.  
  
“How long until you move out yourself?” he asked after a moment’s thought when James had finished.  
  
“I haven’t found a new place yet.  I still have plenty of time to go on my lease, and the landlord isn’t pushing me out, so I’m not overly concerned at this stage.”  
  
“I am.”  James frowned at the worry in Lewis’s voice.  “If you don’t start to get some decent sleep soon, you’ll be more than tired; it’ll start to affect your health.”  Lewis spoke gently.  “I know.  I’ve been there.  I also need to know you’re performing to the best of your abilities, and you’ve set yourself a fairly high standard.”  
  
James nodded resignedly.  
  
“Look, James.  I know you’re a big lad and can look after yourself, you don’t need me fussing, but I’ve got the spare room now and you’re welcome to stay any time you need.  You only have to ask.”  
  
James managed a grateful smile.  “Thank you, sir.  I’ll keep it in mind.”  
  
*****  
  
The rest of the day passed excruciatingly slowly for James.  The fire investigation team, including SOCOs from the station, were gathering evidence as they worked to clear the building, and he and Lewis were expected at the hall again tomorrow to see the progress.  In the meantime, James focused his attention on collating all incidents of arson, vandalism and malicious damage in or around the estate, looking for any similarities or repeat offenders.  When he’d exhausted the official records, he started with newspaper reports.  His mind kept drifting back to the woman in the window.  He hoped she’d replaced her helmet before she was caught.  
  
When Lewis called home time, James pushed his shoulders back to stop himself lowering his head to his desk.  One look at Lewis told James he wasn’t fooling anyone.   
  
“Get some sleep tonight, James.”  There was no accusation, no frustration.  They were simply the words of a concerned friend.  
  
“That’s the plan, sir.  Good night.”  He left Lewis sitting at his desk.  
  
*****  
  
James picked at the leftover lasagne.  It hadn’t been the most appetising meal the first time around, and he wondered if he was going to regret it in the morning.  Taking one last mouthful, he washed it down with his glass of wine.  He savoured the warmth as it travelled down his throat, and the light spin which lifted his head.  He scraped the contents of his plate into the bin, and put his plate and cutlery into the sink to soak.  He rinsed out the glass under running hot water and set it to dry on the draining board.  With a last glance around the kitchen James headed for bed.  He paused outside the bathroom door and leant against the doorframe.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so tired, and briefly wondered if he was coming down with something on top of his disrupted sleep.  
  
James stripped and crawled into bed naked.  His shower could wait until tomorrow.  Perhaps he’d feel better then.  
  
The nights had started to cool down again after the unusually hot summer, but were still very mild.  Despite that, James found himself getting up to pull on a pair of pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt.  He curled up and pulled the blanket and sheet under his chin.  Less than half an hour later he’d added a duvet to the blanket.  The flat was colder than it had been in several months; it was either that or he was coming down with something. As a precaution, he took a dose of paracetamol.  If he was getting sick, he wanted to start fighting it as quickly as possible.  James crawled back into bed, drew his knees up to make himself as small as possible, and pulled the duvet as tightly around himself as he could.  He focused on his breathing, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths.  He felt himself start to drift.  
  
*****  
  
James sat up with a gasp, twisting around rapidly, his eyes taking in as much of the room as he could see in the dark.  He inhaled, sharp and deep, his body telling him he needed to breath.  He hadn’t realised he’d been holding breath.  James pressed his palms against the mattress and listened.  He registered the soft tick of his watch and the hum of his fridge.  He checked his phone.  No new messages.  No missed calls.  It was 4am.  James shivered, the gooseflesh creeping up his arms.  Giving a deep sigh, he lay back down and pulled the duvet over his head like a hood.  
  
James stared up the fire ravaged building and frowned.  How the hell had he ended up outside Crevecoeur?  He looked at himself.  He was wearing his dark grey suit, pale blue shirt, and matching grey tie.  He couldn’t remember getting dressed or driving to the scene.  He sincerely hoped Lewis had picked him up on the way.  Lewis.  He scanned the area around him.  He was completely alone.  The fire engines and their crews had gone, and there was no sign of the fire investigation team.  _Everyone must be inside, even Lewis,_ he thought, which meant James had to get himself inside, and quickly.  He saw the auburn-haired officer again, this time in the kitchen on the ground floor, and hurried around to the kitchen door.  He was surprised when it opened easily, and stunned when he stepped inside.   
  
Although he could smell smoke, the kitchen itself appeared to be untouched apart from the darkened windows.  Even more unexpectedly, it was how James remembered it.  Before he could give it any further thought, he saw the woman standing in front of the old fireplace.  James frowned in puzzlement.  She stood partly in shadow, so James couldn’t say for certain if her dress, which reached mid-calf, was black or navy blue.  She was about five-foot-five, slim, and her hair hung loose over her shoulders.  Her feet were bare.  She was clearly not a part of the investigation team.  He approached her slowly, walking around the large work table in the middle of the room.  
  
“I’m sorry, ma’am.  This is a crime scene, you can’t...”  
  
“Why are you here now?”  She didn’t turn around.  She didn’t move at all.  Her voice chilled James.  
  
James forced himself to move closer, and he reached out to touch her shoulder.  
  
“Ma’am?”  
  
As his fingers touched her shoulder – James registered she was freezing – a fierce wind tore out of the fire place, slamming James against the table.  He cried out at the sharp pain in his hip and felt his knees buckle.  As he dropped heavily to the floor in agony, he heard the woman’s scream rise over the howl of the wind.  
  
James shuddered and slowly half-opened his eyes, immediately screwing them up tightly against the light and taking a deep breath.  He was lying on the floor.  It was warmer than he’d remembered as a child.  His hip throbbed, and the side of his head hurt where it had clipped the table as he fell.  James wanted to stay there until the pain eased but he had to make sure the woman was unharmed.  Taking another steadying breath, James pushed himself up to a partially sitting position, his weight supported by his arms.  He kept his head bowed and his eyes closed.  The silence was the most disturbing feature.  James wondered where the investigation team was and why no-one had responded to the woman’s screams.  He slowly raised his chin, opened his eyes, and gasped.  
  
James blinked and shook his aching head.  He was on the floor of his own kitchen.  Sunlight streamed through the French doors, and a quick glance at the oven clock revealed it was almost eight.  A light, sweet, oddly familiar scent filled his nostrils.  He was still in the t-shirt and pyjama bottoms.  _There’s a logical explanation for this, Hathaway,_ he tried to convince himself.  _You’re tired.  You’ve been back at Crevecoeur.  It’s stirring up old memories._  Yet, James realised, if that were the case, shouldn’t the woman be more familiar, or was she an amalgamation of people he’d known?  
  
Groaning, James held onto the worktop and pulled himself to his feet.  If he didn’t get moving, he’d be late for work, and James wasn’t eager to explain why, or lie, to Lewis.  He was disturbed by the fact he had clearly sleep-walked, something he’d never done before.  Lewis was already worried about him and James didn’t want to add to his concerns.   
  
Once he was on his feet, James took a moment to look around the flat.  There was no obvious sign anyone else had been inside.  He ran his hand over his sore hip.  That was real enough.  James pushed down the side of his pyjama bottoms to expose his hip, and stared at the long, inch-wide bruise blooming against his pale skin.  When he turned side on, the bruise lined up exactly with the edge of his worktop.  James suddenly placed the scent.  Lilac.  None of it made sense, but James didn’t have time to try to puzzle it out.  He made himself move, limping to the bathroom to get ready.

 


	3. Tuesday

James was disappointed his shower hadn’t revived him a little.  He didn’t have time for breakfast, or to make coffee, but he wasn’t prepared to let Lewis see him this tired two days in a row.  He stopped at Boots on the way to the station and picked up a packet of caffeine tablets, along with arnica cream and anti-inflammatories for the bruising on his hip.  After swallowing down two of the caffeine tablets with water, he slipped one strip of them into his jacket pocket.  He had considered simply falling back on a steady supply of coffee or Red Bull, but Lewis, quite rightly, always started warning him about the effects of too much caffeine after the third drink.  The tablets would be easier to conceal, though Lewis would have to see him drink at least one coffee during the day; a lack of coffee consumption, like an excess, could lead to unwanted questions.  James had used the tablets in the past without Lewis finding out.  _And it’ll only be for a few days_ , James tried to convince himself.  
  
Before going into the office, James managed to duck into the toilets to apply the cream to the now black bruise.  He’d hit himself harder than he’d realised and the pain in his hip was causing him to limp slightly.  He desperately wanted to take an anti-inflammatory, for his head as well as his hip, but couldn’t until he’d eaten something.  He forced himself to walk evenly.  As soon as he could, James offered to make a coffee run.  In addition to two coffees – one a decaf – and a pastry for Lewis, James picked himself up a bacon and egg roll which he ate on the way back to the office.  With relief, he swallowed down two anti-inflammatories with his decaf.  
  
“You got a headache?”  Lewis’s brow was lightly furrowed.  
  
James simply nodded and hoped Lewis wouldn’t ask any more.  
  
*****  
  
By 10am, Lewis and Hathaway were back out at Crevecoeur to walk through the ruined hall under the direction of the Pearce and his team.  They were given protective jackets and helmets before entering.  
  
“It’s purely a precaution,” Pearce explained.  “The structure’s been stabilised; however, I don’t want CS Innocent breathing down my neck if anything were to happen.”   
  
“What have you found so far?  Apart from kerosene,” Lewis asked, as they climbed the short flight of stone steps to the main door.  
  
“No bodies, if that’s what you’re asking.  The evidence indicates fires were strategically placed in almost every major room – only the attic space and cellar were untouched.  Whoever did this knew the layout of each floor intimately.”  
  
“A former employee?”  Lewis’s question was directed at James.  “Be quite a list to get through, I suppose?”  
  
“Or it could be one of the regular trespassers.  They'd both be extensive lists, though I’d be surprised if there wasn’t a certain degree of overlap.”  
  
Lewis looked at him curiously.  “Anyone in particular spring to mind?”  
  
“Not off the top of my head.”  James’s personal desire to see justice done had died with Mortmaigne.  In relinquishing the title and dissolving the estate, Titus had wreaked a greater revenge on his dead father than James ever could.  He doubted he was alone in that opinion.  
  
They stepped through the open doorway and James gazed around.  Despite the descriptions, the devastation was greater than James had envisaged.  The acrid smoke burnt its way down his throat, and he gratefully accepted the mask which was handed to him.  He could only imagine how much worse it was for a non-smoker like Lewis.  
  
As they moved beyond the entrance hall, they reached the main staircase.  Surprisingly, the first flight of stairs appeared untouched by the flames, though a layer of ash and debris blanketed the steps.  Further up, the fire had caused varying degrees of damage.  Several sections were completely destroyed.  To his right, the fire crew were moving gingerly through the cavernous space which had once served as a ballroom.  James could see mounds of charred material, presumably debris which had crashed down from the upper levels.  Most of the wainscoting was gone, revealing the burnt timber framework and stone of the outer walls beneath.  
  
Pearce led them off to the left.  “The fire burnt at its fiercest through here.”   
  
James brought up the rear, as Lewis followed Pearce through a short passage towards the back of the house, where the kitchen and other utility rooms were located.  Through the doorway, James could see the walls between the kitchen and the rooms beyond were gone, creating one large open chamber.  He spotted the kitchen fireplace against the far wall, beyond a large heap of rubble and burnt timber which covered the floor.  It was blackened and charred and a number of stones had fallen loose.  It struck James it was much brighter in there than he’d ever remembered, even with all the lights on in the middle of the day.  Even with the effect caused by the absence of the dividing walls, his mind told him something was wrong.  
  
As he stepped properly into the kitchen, his eyes drifted up, following the line of the chimney.  What he saw didn’t make any sense at all.  The ceiling directly over their heads, and more than half of the one above that, was gone.  He sought out the window he’d seen the woman at the day before.  It would have been impossible for anyone to have stood there unless they were on a ladder.  Nor would there have been any need.  _Shadows?  A trick of the light?  A reflection?_   A chill pooled low in James’s belly.  Who or what had he seen, and why had it appeared in his dream?  
  
James shook himself and released his breath.  He glanced around, expecting Lewis to be staring at him, wondering what had distracted him, why he hadn’t answered or asked any questions.  He controlled his sigh of relief as he observed Lewis studying the damage.  What seemed like long minutes to James appeared to have been mere seconds.  
  
“Commander Pearce.”  James found his voice.  “Did the ceiling come down during the fire, or was it collapsed later as a safety measure?”  
  
“During the fire.  As I said, the fire was at its fiercest in this part of the building.  At this stage, we assume there was a large quantity of fuel to feed it, though it was my understanding the entire building had been cleared out.  It appears the first floor ceiling came down first, with the additional weight bringing everything crashing to the floor, where it continued to burn.  Crews heard the timbers give way and were able to get themselves out of the way with seconds to spare.  The force of the collapse blasted out the remaining ground floor windows, as well as throwing out a lot of debris.”  
  
James folded his arms tightly across his chest.  
  
With a series of loud cracks, the fireplace chimney collapsed, forcing the officer nearest to leap out of the way.  James winced as a large stone struck the man's shoulder.  The tumbling stones raised a cloud of ash and dirt, obscuring the unfolding scene.  James covered his face and backed towards the doorway, grabbing at Lewis's elbow as he did.  He could hear the commotion as the members of the investigation team rushed away from immediate danger, and then checked each other was safe.  James and Lewis were joined in the passageway by Pearce.  The officer who had been struck emerged from a door further down the passage, assisted by another team member.  
  
Pearce grabbed James's shoulder.  “Outside.  Now.  We'll have to wait for the dust and ash to settle, and for the rest of the fireplace to be checked.”  
  
“What happened there?”  Lewis coughed harshly when they were outside the main doors.  
  
“I don't know what to tell you.”  Pearce looked baffled.  “The chimney and fireplace were cleared by one of my most experienced officers.  I watched part of the testing myself.”  
  
James looked back inside.  The grey cloud drifted towards open doors and broken windows, carried by the light breeze which flowed through the ravaged building.  A fine layer of ash was spreading across the floor as the heavier particles settled.  James watched curiously as the ash and dust swirled and lifted, parting and rejoining, almost as though someone had walked through it.  
  
They were able to re-enter the hall an hour later.  Stepping carefully to avoid stirring up too much dust, they made their way back to the kitchen.  Wire mesh had been placed across the remnants of the fireplace and four team members were beginning to sift through the chimney rubble.  
  
“Commander!”  The cry was slightly muffled as the officer was bent double, pulling an item from under the fallen chimney stones, his hands protected by heavy duty gloves.  
  
“What have you got, David?”  
  
James followed Pearce across the floor as he picked his way along the cleared path in the rubble.  David held out a battered and charred metal locked box.  James thought it wasn’t dissimilar to the cash tin one of his old porters used to hold a ready supply of change for the public phones at the college.  The lid had been damaged, though it was difficult to say whether it was warped from the fire or the battering it took.  
  
Pearce reached for the box and was stopped by James gently grabbing his wrist.  
  
“Not without gloves.”  Pearce gave him a querying look.  “At least until we know what's inside, sir.  It may or may not be connected to the fire but, for the moment, shouldn’t we assume it is?” James offered.  James sensed the box was important, but couldn’t explain why.  
  
Pearce nodded. At the edge of his vision, James saw Lewis approach.  
  
“David,” Pearce commanded quietly, “d'you think you can get it open easily?  Don't force it if it won't release.”  
  
Placing his fingers in the narrow gap which had opened on one side, David opened the box with a thunk.  James and Pearce looked inside.  
  
Charring on the inside seemed to indicate the box hadn't been sealed tightly at the time of the fire.  James remembered the fire being in constant use during the winter months to heat the back rooms.  The box could have been placed in the chimney at any time in the past and possibly warped with heat.  
  
Inside the box were a locket and a signet ring.  At a glance, the size of the ring suggested it was a woman’s.  There was also a small, lightly scorched notebook, and a piece of off-white paper or card beneath it.  
  
James pulled a pair of latex gloves from his trouser pocket.  Snapping them on, he put his hand into the box for the notebook.  Without warning, he stumbled backwards heavily.  He was saved from crashing to the ground by the officer behind him, who managed to stand his ground when James fell on to him, catching him around the chest.  Lewis was at his side in seconds.  
  
“Are you all right?”  Lewis took hold of his arm and helped him back to his feet.  “What happened?”  
  
James swallowed down the tremor in his throat.  “I’m fine.  I just, er, stepped on…”  He looked quickly at his feet. “…a broken brick.”  
  
“Take a bit of care, lad.  I don’t want to be the one to tell Innocent you’ve cracked your head open because you were half asleep.”  
  
James recognised the warning in Lewis’s lightly spoken works and didn’t try to defend himself – an action which earned him another curious look.  Clearly, Lewis was expecting a sarky reply.  James didn’t have the energy.  
  
He couldn’t explain to Lewis – or anyone, for that matter – he hadn’t stumbled, he hadn’t consciously moved his feet at all.  And he didn’t know how to begin to tell him it was as though someone or something had shoved him in the chest.  Which, of course, was impossible.  
  
James took a moment to steady himself.  He began to wonder if he’d struck his head harder than he originally thought, though he no longer had a headache, nor had there been a lump or any bruising.  Embarrassed by his near-tumble, James avoided making eye contact with anyone, other than to give Lewis a short nod.  James took a step forward, raising his hand towards the box again.  He hesitated briefly before wrapping his fingers around the small notebook.  James gently turned the book over between his gloved palms.  It was smaller than the notebook he usually carried, being roughly three inches by four inches.  The black vinyl cover was brittle with age and cracked in places, and it was held closed by a thick, red elastic band.  When James attempted to remove the band, parts of it crumbled under his fingers, the pieces falling to mix with the ash and debris on the floor.  The remainder stuck to the cover of the book.  
  
“Shit,” James muttered.  Holding the book flat in his palm, he moved so he could hold it over the opened box.  Conscious of the eyes on him, James carefully and slowly flicked through the book.  Most of the pages appeared blank, but before he could stop to examine any of them in detail, several small pressed flowers fell out from between the pages.  Although they were faded, and the scent long gone, James recognised them as a lilac blooms.  He placed the book, locket and ring into the open lid of the box and removed the paper lying on the bottom.  Turning it over revealed a black and white photograph of a group of four women, sitting on a blanket with a picnic basket.  There was nothing in the image to identify where they were, yet there was something familiar about it.  The women were all wearing a simple, dark coloured dress with a belt.  On two women, James could see dark, flat slip-on shoes.  One face was circled.  Her hair was long, straight, and flowing down over her shoulders.  It could have been auburn; the nature of the print made it difficult to tell.  James was suddenly dizzy and forced himself not to sway, breathing deeply as he did so.  He wanted more time with the box and its odd mix of items.  
  
“I’d like this bagged as evidence.  Just in case.”  
  
David took the box to have it logged in with the other evidence already gathered, ready for delivery to the police station once the search was complete.  James followed Lewis and Pearce as they continued their walk-through of the hall.  He forced himself to pay attention.  
  
Leaving the building, Lewis pointed towards earth moving equipment being positioned on the other side of the lake, beyond the summerhouse.  
  
“What’s happening there?”  
  
“Bloody hell, they haven’t wasted any time!”  Pearce withdrew an envelope from inside his jacket.  “The council held an extraordinary meeting yesterday.  They finally gave the developers permission to commence site works, provided they started with the grounds adjacent to the hall, and the demolition of the hall itself.  We were instructed to advise the developer where and when they could begin.  I only spoke to the managing director at nine this morning to let him know which areas were clear.”  He shook his head in disbelief, as the roar and whine of chainsaws against timber rolled across the lake.  
  
*****  
  
That night, James found himself back at Crevecoeur.  Not in the hall, though.  He was in a grove of trees.  He pivoted slowly, trying to get his bearings.  The summerhouse was off to his right, the hall just visible beyond.   _This would be close to where they’ve started digging, so where’s the machinery?_   He looked up to see lilacs in full bloom.  Closing his eyes, James deeply inhaled their sweet scent.  He remembered this place from his childhood, as it had been a favourite place to play – it was close enough to the hall to hear if they were being called, far enough away to feel like an adventure.  This was where he’d ‘married’ Scarlett.  He allowed himself a small, sad smile at the memory.  He continued to turn slowly, putting the summerhouse at his back.   
  
As he circled clockwise, off to one side amongst the trees he saw the woman from his dream again.  He wondered if she was the same woman whose face had been circled in the photograph.  She was looking towards the summerhouse and away from him.  This time, her auburn hair was tied back loosely, and he could see her dress was navy blue and had a belt.  His first instinct was to walk away, to put as much space between himself and her as possible.  Instead, he found himself approaching her.  He needed to know who she was.  
  
“Have you come to stay with me?  I’d like you to stay.”  James’s feet stuttered to a halt at the low growl which filled his head.  He couldn’t describe the fear which settled on him, and as she twisted around towards him James turned and ran in the opposite direction, like a frightened child, like he had when the groundskeeper had caught him kissing Scarlett at the end of their ‘wedding’ and roared at him.  He was aware he was running full tilt towards Lodge Farm.  _Towards home_.  The thought came unbidden.  He tripped, throwing his arms out in front of him as he fell.  
  
James woke with a jolt just before he hit the ground.  It was still dark and he was facedown in his bed.  His arms were outstretched, his hands pressed hard against the wall.  The blanket was on the floor some distance from the foot of the bed, as though thrown or yanked off, and the sheet was tangled around his feet.  His t-shirt was soaked with sweat and he was panting.  James rolled onto his side and drew his knees up.  He stared at the wall opposite as both his breathing and heart-rate slowed.  He could still smell the lilac around him.  
  
“Oh.”  James’s eyes widened as he exhaled slowly.  _The dress._   With an effort, he dropped his legs over the edge of the bed and pressed against the mattress until he was sitting up.  No wonder the women in the photograph and the woman in his dreams seemed so familiar.  The blue belted dress was the uniform worn by the Crevecoeur house staff until the mid-eighties.  It had later changed to a skirt and blouse when James was around eight or nine.  All five women – no, four.  Something told James the circled woman was the one who was tormenting him – must have been employed at Crevecoeur, working somewhere inside the hall itself.  James thought he should know who they were, but he’d been a shy child, and had spent much of his time in the kitchen under the large table with books, paper and pencils.  And it had been so long ago, even the faces of those he’d known well, such as Paul’s mother, had faded in his memory.  
  
He drew his hands down over his face.  Who is the woman whose face was circled in the photograph?  Why was the photograph locked away with those other items and hidden in the fireplace?  And why was she in his dreams? 

 


	4. Wednesday

James dropped his sandwich wrapper in the bin.  He hadn't really been hungry but he knew all too well the consequences if he hadn't eaten would have left him feeling far worse.  He swallowed down two caffeine tablets and his second dose of anti-inflammatories for the day with a cup of office tea.  The bruising in his hip had deepened overnight, and while it throbbed painfully, he was managing to control the limp.  The tea was only marginally better than the instant coffee, and Lewis walked in just as James shuddered at the taste.  
  
“Are you coming down with something?”  Lewis stood in front of James’s desk, stared pointedly at the two strips of tablets next to the keyboard and then at James.  
  
James quickly palmed the tablets.  “No.  It’s the tea.  It’s bloody foul.”  He winced inwardly as Lewis’s mouth tightened.  “I’m fine.  It’s just a headache.”  
  
“A two-day headache?”  Lewis’s brows arched sharply.  He bent forward slightly and studied James intently.  “I've a good mind to send you home, sergeant.  You look like death warmed up.”  
  
James held his gaze and didn’t answer.  As Lewis turned away, making no effort to hide his concern, James closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped.  He hated the feeling in his gut when he believed he’d disappointed Lewis, but he also saw no point in telling him about the nightmares.  Not only were they not really connected to the case, they’d left him feeling foolish, childish, and just a little disturbed.  Bad dreams weren’t new, he’d had them off and on, in one form or another, for as long as he could remember, but he’d never been known to sleepwalk, much less injure himself in his sleep.  It didn’t make any sense.  
  
Lewis was shooting querying glances in his direction, and James was grateful when his phone rang.  
  
“The evidence from Crevecoeur's ready.”  He pushed his chair back and was surprised when  Lewis did the same.  “Sir?”  
  
“You get the boxes – though I'll be surprised if they found much given the level of destruction – I'll go get us a decent coffee, yeah?”  
  
Aware declining would raise questions he didn’t want to answer, James managed to smile his thanks, and silently wished he'd held off on the caffeine tablets.  
  
*****  
  
In the end, there were two archive boxes of material for them to examine.  
  
“I'm surprised they found this much,” Lewis commented, pulling out various bagged items with gloved hands, including part of a rucksack, a pocket knife, and what appeared to be a warped tin mug.  
  
“Squatters have been moved on several times, some quite forcibly.  Most of this stuff's probably been left by them at some stage.”  James carefully withdrew the metal box and placed it in the centre of the desk.  
  
“D'you think it's connected to the fire?”  
  
James looked up, startled.  He hadn't realised Lewis had come across and was standing beside him.  “No.   But I can't shake the feeling it's important.”  James avoided making eye contact.  
  
“Don't let Innocent catch you focussing on something that's not case related.  I think we've pushed our luck there too often.”  Lewis squeezed his shoulder and stepped away.  
  
“Yes, sir,” James mumbled.  It was an automatic response.  The fragrance of lilac had caught his attention again, even though there appeared to be nothing else, beyond the small pressed blooms he knew were inside the box, which could be carrying the smell.  
  
“Can you smell...?”  
  
James stopped mid-sentence and stared at the door.  He spun his chair around to scan the rest of the office space through the glass.  
  
“James?  Smell what?”  
  
“I thought there was…  doesn’t matter…”  A woman had been standing in the open doorway – James was certain of it – but he was buggered if he knew where she’d gone.  The smell of lilac had vanished just as quickly.  He rolled towards the glass partitioning and looked carefully at the three women in the outer office.  They were all wearing trousers and he knew he’d glimpsed a skirt.  James shook his head and returned to the remaining items in the box.  He picked up the coffee from his desk and pretended to drink, and then followed it swiftly with a long drink of water.  He clenched his hand into a fist to control the slight tremor which had started.  
  
Lewis's calendar reminder pinged, and he swore at his computer.  
  
“Forgot about the bloody senior officers' briefing with Innocent.  Sorry, James.  I'll get back as soon as I can.” He threw the latex gloves in the bin.  
  
“Not a problem.”  James offered a sympathetic smile and waited until Lewis had left the office before lowering his head on the desk.  
  
He took advantage of Lewis's absence to dispose of the remaining coffee and get himself more water without raising questions.  He gulped down a bottleful and refilled it from the water cooler in the break room, then stopped in the loos to wash his face.  He soaked and wrung out several paper towels and pressed them to the back of his neck, listening for voices outside the door the whole time.  
  
Feeling more refreshed, James returned to his desk.  After pulling on a fresh pair of gloves, he cast his eyes down the detailed forensic report, quietly impressed at how quickly they'd worked.  The report indicated no viable prints had been found, which wasn’t a complete surprise, and the exterior of the box had been cleaned up as much as possible to look for any features which could identify its source.  James stared at the box in the middle of the desk before cautiously pushing it to one side.  He'd managed to convince himself that, somehow, he'd received a strong static shock when he'd first touched the box, and that was what had caused him to stumble back.  He'd chosen to deliberately ignore the lack of either the usual snapping sound or spark.  When nothing out of the ordinary happened, he realised he'd been holding his breath.  He rubbed one hand slowly over his mouth and chin.  Taking a deep breath, he began to examine the other evidence, choosing to leave the box until Lewis was back in the office.  
  
James spent an inordinate amount of time comparing each item in both boxes to the report, looking for anything which might have been missed.  When he heard Lewis speaking to DC Julie Lockhart in the outer office, he returned the broken, useless mobile phone he'd been studying to its bag and placed it back with the other evidence.  His hand hovered briefly over the box.  Lewis walked into the office, carrying a couple of files and muttering about nitpicking auditors and staples.  James finally pulled the box to the middle of the desk and slowly opened it.  
  
He'd expected the lid to be stiff or possibly jammed, but it opened easily. A quick look revealed the lock had been removed, bagged and added to the contents.  James scowled.  That wasn't included in the report. He was certain he would have picked up on such a detail.  However, when he checked, it was clearly noted at the end of the listing of the contents.  James shoved away the niggling voice that wondered what other details he'd missed.  
  
He glanced quickly at Lewis, who was flicking through the fattest file, looking completely fed up and grimly determined at the same time.  Whatever Innocent had tasked him with, James wasn't about to interrupt.  
  
He pulled out the photograph and retrieved a magnifying glass from his top drawer.  Switching on his desk lamp and directing its beam over the box, James studied the photograph in detail.  He'd been right; the women were wearing Crevecoeur uniforms, ones not used since the mid-eighties. He looked at each face intently, hoping he could recall a name, or even a fragment of a memory, but nothing came to him.  
  
James propped the photograph up, sliding one edge between the rows on his keyboard.  With a soft sigh, he picked up the heart-shaped locket and tried to open it.  He fumbled with it for a moment, his short, bitten fingernails no match for the tiny clasp.  He put it to one side and examined the ring instead.  The small oval face was engraved with the initials HC in a flowing script.  The report indicated the band was unmarked, but James checked it anyway, hoping to find even a partial date.  It wouldn't be unknown for forensics to miss something, though it was rare.  He returned both pieces of jewellery to the box, and turned his attention to the notebook.  
  
There was nothing in the report about the small book which James hadn't already observed for himself.  It would be up to him, and Lewis, to interpret whatever was contained inside – if it was deemed relevant to the investigation.  The first half of the notebook appeared to be a record of fuel purchases and, though he hadn't seen it for over twenty years, James was shocked when he recognised his father's handwriting.  James tossed up telling Lewis and decided it could wait.  If it turned out to be relevant, then he'd say something.  James presumed his father must have lost the book, or had it taken from him at some stage.  He certainly couldn’t imagine his brutal, unforgiving hands pressing lilac flowers between the pages.  
  
James flicked slowly through the remaining pages.  The smell of lilac was surprisingly strong.  There was a drawing on the flyleaf at the back of the book.    As James rotated the book, the sketch revealed itself to be a diagram of the grounds at Crevecoeur between the hall and the summerhouse.  A thicker cross had been marked behind the summerhouse.  James recognised it as the same location in his dream.  
  
James closed his eyes as dizziness threatened to overcome him.  He swallowed down the sudden feeling of nausea.  It was ridiculous: first the woman, then the fireplace, and now the grove of trees.  He rubbed his brow.  He'd had dreams – nightmares – about cases before, but never before the events.  There had to be a logical reason.  He took his mind back over the events, from the night of the fire until now.  As he did so, he slowly and carefully repacked the evidence into the archive box, all too aware of Lewis's eyes following him, the file discarded.  
  
James reached the conclusion that in his sleep-deprived state – he had to call it what it was – his subconscious was playing tricks on him.  He'd seen, or thought he'd seen someone above the kitchen fireplace on the first day, and his mind had put the two images together. The wind had to be his own interpretation of what it would have been like to have been caught in the fire.  As for last night's dream, he must have caught a glimpse of the drawing when he looked at the book earlier in the day, and his mind had merged it with parts of his previous dream.  The sleepwalking and the injuries had to be a form of parasomnia, also connected to his lack of sleep.   James gave himself a satisfied nod.  It was all quite logical, and perfectly normal, even if it was a little disturbing.  
  
Lewis's head was back down over the file, so James surreptitiously removed the caffeine tablets from his jacket and dropped them in his desk drawer.  He _had_ to start getting a decent night's sleep, so he couldn't afford to take any more, and now that he understood what was causing his dreams, he was confident he'd be able to 'talk' himself out of them, as he'd learnt to do when he was still a child.  _Mind over matter, Hathaway_ , he thought to himself.  Mind over bloody matter.  
  
Clearing his desk, James retrieved the second box of evidence off Lewis's desk.  Lewis looked up.  The seemingly perpetual concerned frown he'd been giving James eased slightly.  James assumed his own expression had improved with the realisation there was nothing wrong with him a good night's sleep couldn't fix.  
  
When he'd finished, James took both boxes back to the evidence locker.  Returning to the office he found Lewis shutting down his computer and preparing to leave.  
  
“How's that head of yours?  Fancy an early finish and a pint?  There's no point starting anything else now.”  
  
The last thing James wanted was a pint, but the offer of company was enticing.  Lewis had noted his hesitation.  
  
“Perhaps you'd prefer tonic on the rocks instead?”  
  
“Actually... I'm not sure I could face the noise of the pub.”  Lewis started to nod and turn away.  James continued quickly.  “Would you like to come back to my place instead?  I've a reasonable variety of drinks to choose from, and I might even be able to put some sort of meal together.”  James held his breath.  He and Lewis had shared meals before, though usually in Lewis's flat or the pub.  James could count on one hand the number of times Lewis had been in his flat.  
  
Lewis's face lit up.  
  
*****  
  
Suddenly not entirely confident the contents of his fridge or pantry would produce anything Lewis might like, James stopped by Tesco on the way home, picking up a cooked chicken and a couple of ready to eat salads.  They ate well, and shared the best part of a bottle of Pinot Grigio.  Lewis did most of the talking, while James was content to listen to the latest family news from Lyn and, unexpectedly, Mark, Lewis having received one of his rare emails which hadn't arrived via Lyn.  
  
James noted the way Lewis skilfully avoided any mention of their case or James's loss of sleep.  However, the looks he gave James spoke volumes, and at one point, James was convinced Lewis had been ready to hug him.  Lewis's parting words were the gentle plea of a concerned friend, and the closest he came to lecturing James all night.  
  
“Goodnight, lad.  Get yourself a decent sleep, will ya.  It'd be good to see you back to yourself in the morning.”  
  
“I'll do my best,” James promised.  “There are a few simple techniques I can try – drug-free and completely safe.”  
  
“Have you been Googling on work time again?” Lewis's smile was almost fond.  
  
“You've caught me out, sir.”  James grinned.  “Though, I thought as it was connected to my workplace performance, it was an acceptable use of time and resources.”  
  
“Here's hoping it has been.”  Lewis squeezed his arm and was gone.  
  
After Lewis left, the flat felt even emptier than it had during the previous weeks. James wiped down the coffee table and worktop and aimlessly tidied while he decided which aid to sleep technique he was going to try.  
  
In the end, he settled for trying the cold shower approach, as it was the simplest.  ‘As cold as you can stand’ the website had advised, suggesting it improved sleep because ‘the feeling you get after the initial shock of the shower helps your body calm down and relax’.  James crawled into bed, shivering slightly and definitely more relaxed.  James opened the aid-to-sleep app he’d downloaded earlier in the day, and worked his way through the various options.  Settling on a combination of sounds which reminded him of the one truly happy summer holiday he had while at school, he set the sleep timer and closed his eyes.  
  
James yawned and rolled over, wincing as his shoulder scraped against something hard.  He opened his eyes to find himself once again at Crevecoeur, his back against a tree.   
  
“Not again,” he groaned softly.  He hunched forward, shoulders slumped, and straightened almost instantly.  
  
“It’s a dream, Hathaway.  Just a dream,” he told himself determinedly.  “Wake up.”  
  
A movement caught his eye.  She was perhaps fifty metres away from him, standing by the tree again.  Though her face was in shadow, he knew she was looking at him.  
  
“Wake up, Hathaway.”  James’s voice became a growl.  He tried to turn his back on her, but couldn’t move.  He squeezed his eyes shut and started to count to ten.  Cold, fetid air washed over his face as he uttered ‘four’, and his eyes snapped open as he jerked his head back and away from the stench.  
  
She grabbed his right wrist with both hands before he completely comprehended she was directly in front of him, her chin raised defiantly.  Where she held him burned, but not like fire.  She was icy cold and James gasped loudly as the pain intensified.  He tried to wrench his hand free but it was as though she was fused to him.  
  
“What do you want?” he bellowed as he tried to push her away with his free hand.  He shoved hard but it had little impact.  She clawed at his face with one hand, her grip on his wrist with the other tightening.  So powerful was her grasp, James feared if she squeezed any harder the small bones in his wrist would be crushed.  All thought of trying to wake himself up had fled.  He only wanted to get away.  
  
“Help me.”  James heard the voice in his head.  It was a painful, angry sob.  The sorrow and despair behind it were in direct contrast to the force with which she attempted to drag him forward.  James feet began to slip and he dug his heels in.  He made another effort to free himself, yanking his arm back with as much strength as he could manage, crying out in pain as his shoulder slammed back against the tree.  He crashed to the ground as his feet slid out from under him.  
  
James gasped as the pain shot through his hip.  It was only as he struggled to sit up he realised the pressure on his wrist had gone, and he was very relieved to find himself on his bedroom floor.  At least this time he hadn’t sleepwalked, but then he’d barely moved his feet in his dream; perhaps they were connected.  The flat was quiet, and James shivered as the gooseflesh rippled over his arms.  It was so damned cold in his flat recently and there was no good reason for it.  He considered Lewis’s offer of the spare bedroom and pushed it aside once again.  While he was confident Lewis wouldn’t simply kick him out, he couldn’t in good conscience stay while he was having these nightmares.  He’d be the houseguest from hell.  
  
James sat on the edge of the bed in the dark.  He checked his phone and noted it was after four.  He still had a few hours until his alarm and decided to try the app again – even another hour’s sleep could make a difference.  This time he selected the less evocative white noise option, in case the sounds he’d chosen previously had triggered his dream.  Despite rapidly falling into a deep, and thankfully dreamless, sleep, when his alarm went off, he still had to drag himself out of bed.  
  
He caught his reflection as he walked into the bathroom, and walked slowly to the mirror, open mouthed.  There was a long, deep scratch along his jaw, curiously in the exact place where the woman had raked at his face in the dream.  Raising his hand to trace the line he saw the bruising on his wrist, the same wrist which had been held.  
  
James studied his injuries.  He must have thrashed about quite a bit to scratch his face as he had, though he thought it odd it was the only one.  Apart from his wrist, the rest of his body appeared unmarked.  As for the bruising, if he had been flailing wildly it was highly likely he’d bashed it against the bedside table, or even landed awkwardly on it as he fell out of bed.  _Yes, surely that was it._   He’d injured himself when he fell out of bed.  He stepped into the shower, hoping to wash away at least some of the weariness he felt.  
  
 _Ghost?_   The word popped into James’s head as lifted his face into the spray, and he snorted dismissively.  _Don’t be ridiculous, Hathaway.  Just because the church doesn’t deny their existence doesn’t mean you should presume they exist.  There’s nothing supernatural about these nightmares.  It’s Crevecoeur and the association of ideas.  When you start sleeping properly..._ James sagged against the shower wall _._   He couldn’t remember what a full night’s sleep felt like.   
  
He forced himself eat breakfast and made his coffee double strength.  His mind drifted back to the idea of a ghost, and he summarily dismissed it.  While several estates around Oxford did have their legends, he wasn’t aware of any tales of ghosts or hauntings connected to Crevecoeur.  And even if there had been, the idea one would attach to him was quite ridiculous.

 

 


	5. Thursday

Before heading into the office, Lewis met with Commander Pearce at the fire station to pick up a copy of his final report.  When he arrived at half-past nine, he discovered James standing in the middle of the office.  His tie was askew, and his hair dishevelled and spiked. As he watched, James roughly shoved both hands through his hair, stopping abruptly when he saw Lewis in the doorway.  
  
Lewis took in more details.  James's eyes were wide, he was slightly breathless, and his entire body was trembling, probably with frustration if his expression was anything to go by, Lewis decided.  A fine sheen covered his face and his shirt clung to him in places.  
  
“What’s going on?” Lewis scanned the upturned office and made no effort to conceal his disbelief.  If this was a symptom of James's sleeplessness, Lewis was going to place him on leave right there and then.  
  
“Some evidence has gone missing.”  Lewis was relieved to hear the matter-of-fact statement, though concerned by its content.  
  
“Such as?”  
  
“The metal box and its contents.  I'm positive I put everything back in the archive boxes before I logged them back into Evidence.  When I went to take them out this morning, it was missing.  We – Sergeant d’Angelo and myself – checked the surrounding shelves, just in case it had been removed and not replaced, though there was no reason for anyone else to have accessed the evidence.  They’re holding onto the boxes, and they’re going through the CCTV now.”  
  
“If you put it back, why are you going through everything here?”  
  
“It’s the only other place I know the boxes have been.  I... was tired.  I thought ‘what if I didn’t put it back?’  What if I’d put it somewhere in here in a daze?”  James ducked his head.  
  
Lewis frowned worriedly.  “James, we left at the same time,” he said gently.  “And I saw you pack the boxes and take them back.  There was nothing left on your desk and it’s fairly plain you’ve checked… thoroughly.”  Lewis cast his gaze over the drawers sitting on top of James’s desk.  “Did you get any sleep last night?”  
  
Looking up, James blinked.  “Ah, a bit.”  
  
Lewis studied the shadows under James’s eyes.  _A bit, my arse._ He bit back his inital impatience.  James didn’t need a lecture; he needed kindness, though not too much.  
  
“Look, James... Sergeant d’Angelo?”  
  
James turned at Lewis’s change of tone to see d’Angelo standing in the doorway.  He was carrying the two archive boxes James had worked though the day before.  
  
“You can have these now, sarge.  The box turned up.”  
  
James stared in disbelief.  “Where was it?”  
  
To Lewis, d’Angelo looked more perplexed than James.   
  
“Constable Walker was preparing older evidence for relocation to central storage.  It was on the shelves with the evidence in the Black murder – the other Crevecoeur case – still in its evidence bag.  The weird thing is, the bag was cracked and brittle.  If it wasn’t for the label, I would have thought someone had swapped bags.  Forensics are looking at it, and they’re checking the box for prints.  They’ll bring it down as soon as they’re done, sir.”  
  
Lewis nodded.  “Anything show up on CCTV yet?”  
  
“No, sir, not yet.  There’re quite a few hours to get through – all night, four cameras...”  d’Angelo shrugged apologetically.  
  
“Fair enough.  Let us know if you find anything.  Someone’s been playing with evidence and I want to know who.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  d’Angelo left quickly and Lewis returned his attention to James.  James had turned towards his desk, and Lewis saw the right side of his face for the first time.  
  
“What have you done to your face?”  Lewis gestured towards James’s cheek.  
  
James ran his fingers over the scratch and looked surprised to see the blood on his fingertips.   
  
“You need to take more care, James.  You’ll want to get cleaned up before you mark your shirt.”  
  
“Yes,” James replied, distractedly, still staring at his fingers.  “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”  
  
Lewis shook his head slowly as James left the office.  
  
  
  
James leant against the sink and dabbed at the drying trickle of blood on his neck with a dampened paper towel.  He paused, his fingers pressed against his jaw, and looked at his hands as though seeing them for the first time.  _Could you be any thicker?_ he reprimanded himself.  He couldn’t possibly have caused the injury to his face unless he’d hit the bedside table as he fell out of bed, which surely would have left more than just the scratch.  He didn’t have any nails to scratch anything with, and he was positive his hands had been clean.  _So how the hell did it happen?_  
  
James tugged his sleeve down over his bruised wrist.  
  
*****  
  
“James, what do you make of this?”  
  
James stretched out his hand for the file Lewis was referring to.  He jumped and dropped it on his desk when Lewis grabbed his forearm.  James followed his gaze down to where his sleeve had ridden up, revealing the bruising, stark against the pale skin on the inside of his wrist.  James cringed inwardly at the look on Lewis’s face.  
  
Lewis scowled.  “Don’t tell me you did this as well, while you were searching the office this morning?”  
  
James shook his head.  He didn’t want to lie, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk about the nightmares.  With a small sigh, he gave Lewis an abbreviated version of his night.  “I had an unsettling...  dream.  I woke up with a jolt and... fell out of bed.  I must have landed on my wrist.”  
  
Lewis gently turned James’s arm, studying the bracelet of reddish-purple skin; James couldn’t read his expression.  The more James looked at the bruising, the harder it was becoming to tell himself it really was the result of a fall.  If he couldn’t quite believe it, he wasn’t surprised when Lewis didn’t either.  
  
“What really happened, James?” Lewis asked kindly.  
  
“I swear, I fell out of bed.”  James wanted Lewis to believe him even as his own belief faltered.  “I don’t remember landing on it or twisting it, but it’s the only thing it can be.”  
  
Lewis’s eyes flickered.  “Was _that_ how you hurt your face?”  James nodded.  
  
“I think so.”  
  
Lewis held James’s eyes, and James wished he knew what he was thinking.  Finally, Lewis lowered James’s arm onto his desk and returned to his own.  
  
James knew if he hadn’t been under scrutiny before, he certainly was now.  
  
*****  
  
Lewis stared at James’s stooped back as he left the office to check on the progress of the examination of the limited CCTV footage from various points around Crevecoeur.  He slumped back in his chair with a heavy sigh.  It was obvious James believed, or wanted to believe, the circumstances behind his injuries, but Lewis wasn’t convinced.  He’d been a copper too long to be taken in by the ‘I fell’ or ‘I walked into a door’ defence.  The scratch could have occurred in a number of ways, but the bruises on James’s wrist – they could only have been made by someone tightly grabbing and twisting it.  James didn’t have the injuries the previous day, nor were there any incidents during the day where he could have sustained such an injury.  And he knew James wouldn’t self-harm.  But even if he were the type, it wasn’t the sort of injury you’d expect.  Lewis wondered if there was something he’d missed, something he could have done, could be doing, for James?  
  
He picked up the phone.  “Laura?  It’s Robbie.  Have you got time to go for a coffee?”  
  
*****  
  
Lewis didn’t waste time with small talk.  “Is it possible for someone to hurt themselves in their sleep?”  
  
Laura looked at him quizzically.  “Define ‘hurt’.”  
  
He explained about James’s face and wrists.  “He certainly didn’t have them yesterday.  He says he fell out of bed after a bad dream, but to me it looks like someone grabbed his wrist and twisted it.  I wouldn’t usually go behind his back, but I know he’s unlikely to give away anything if there is more to it, and he definitely believes what he’s telling me.”  
  
Laura nodded thoughtfully.  “Parasomnia’s the collective term; it refers to all the abnormal things that can happen while a person sleeps, and covers things like night terrors and sleep walking.  One in particular, REM behaviour disorder, causes people to act out their dreams.  Sufferers lack the normal muscle paralysis of REM sleep, which permits them to act out dramatic and sometimes violent dreams during the REM stage.  I had an ex-boyfriend who was a sufferer," she added with a wry smile in response to Lewis's look of astonishment.  “Has James mentioned any trouble sleeping?”  
  
“Aye, he has.  At least, he’s said he’s not been sleeping as well as normal.”  Lewis didn’t think the details of James’s accommodation issues were necessary at the moment.  
  
Worry etched Laura’s brow.  “Keep an eye on him, Robbie.  In some cases the violence can escalate, resulting in quite severe injuries.  If things look like they’re getting worse, you might have to intervene.”  
  
Lewis heaved a frustrated sigh.  “That won’t go down well.  James is an independent sod – too independent sometimes.”  
  
“And you’re his senior officer and friend.  He’ll listen to you.”  
  
Lewis wasn’t as confident.  
  
“It’s not all bad news, Robbie.  In most cases, restoring good sleeping patterns is enough to bring things back to normal.  If not, there are some simple drug therapies.”  She raised an eyebrow.  “Perhaps you could suggest he offer himself as a subject to the Pretorius Laing Institute.”  
  
“The sleep lab?”  Lewis rolled his eyes.  “Hell’ll freeze over before James submits himself to be anyone’s guinea pig.”  
  
Laura grinned.  “I know.  It was merely a suggestion.”  
  
“Thanks, Laura.  It helps to know there’s a reason – though I wish James wasn’t so... guarded about things.”  
  
“He’s James, Robbie.  As you said, he’s fiercely independent, and he wouldn’t want you to worry about him.  Get him to see a doctor.  Make it an order if you have to.”   
  
Lewis screwed his face up at the prospect of that conversation.  
  
“I’m happy to have a chat with him if he won’t listen to you.”  
  
“I might just come to that,” Lewis said grimly  
  
*****  
  
James returned to the office after picking up sandwiches and coffee in time to see Sergeant d'Angelo leaving.  Lewis was frowning at two pieces of paper as James walked in.  He put Lewis's lunch on the desk, drawing his attention.  
  
“Ta, James.”  He rustled the papers.  “It’s the fingerprint and CCTV reports from this morning.  No sign of any unauthorised person or persons going in or out, but the camera which covers the access to the relevant shelves malfunctioned and didn't record anything between four and six this morning.  The other cameras were fine, but there was nothing out of the ordinary on them.  The condition of the evidence bag is a mystery.  Their best guess is it was dropped in liquid nitrogen.”  
  
“Liquid nitrogen?”  
  
“‘…evidence of exposure to extreme and sudden cold, such as immersion in liquid nitrogen’,” he quoted.  “They’re going to leave it at that unless we want them to test further.   As for the box itself, there was one set of smudged marks which hadn’t been there when they did their initial tests.  They managed to get what appear to be a few partial prints.  The size and shape indicates a smallish hand – a woman or a teenager most likely.  However, they don't match _any_ officers in the station, male or female, and we don't have enough grounds to authorise a search through IDENT1.”  
  
“So that's that?”  James dropped into his chair with a disgruntled huff.  “We can't check against civilian employees?”  
  
“There's no indication anyone other than rostered officers went beyond the main desk at Evidence.  We've no grounds to investigate further,” he repeated, “or tie up any more resources on anything not directly related to the fire.  Speaking of which, any joy there?”  
  
“M'waiting for the report,” James mumbled around his sandwich.  “DC Lockhart did indicate they might have something, but wasn't prepared to commit herself.”  
  
Lewis grunted his approval.  “She's a good officer, Julie.  If she thinks she's got something, she probably has.”  
  
“That's what I'm counting on,” James murmured.  
  
*****  
  
“James!  Wake up!”  
  
James felt his gut knot.  Lewis sounded furious, and why did it feel like an earthquake?  _Earthquake?  In Oxford?_   James spun around at a touch on his shoulder, and landed on the floor with a painful thump.  
  
“James!  Are you all right?  Here, give us your hand.”  
  
James warily raised his head, having bounced it off something on his way down, to see Lewis’s worn and strong hand in front of him.  With a grunt, he let Lewis pull him upwards, another hand guiding him gently to his chair.  
  
James looked around.  He was in the office, the file he'd been reading splayed across his desk.  
  
“What...?” He shrank at the expression on Lewis's face.  _Not fury.  Fear._  
  
“You started yelling gibberish and swinging an arm around.”  Lewis had a firm but gentle grip on James's shoulder.  His eyes swept over James.  “You didn't answer me when I called your name, and I came over here to find you asleep.  I had to shake you to wake you up.  I'm this far off ordering you to take leave.”  Lewis’s finger and thumb were almost touching.  
  
James was briefly mortified, then surprisingly relieved it had reached this point.. _No earthquake.  Shaken.  And stirred._   James bit back a giggle and swallowed his pride.  
  
“That won't be necessary, sir.  That is, if the offer of the spare room's still open.”  James had realised with sudden, shocking clarity he didn't feel safe or secure in his own flat, and he wanted to feel safe.  Surely he’d sleep then?  
  
The relief on Lewis's face was instant.  James wondered how many times Lewis had stopped himself repeating his offer, and felt oddly guilty.  
  
“You're welcome to stay as long as you need.”  
  
*****  
  
James curled up in the bed in Lewis's spare room.  He lay facing the closed door, listening to the sounds of the house around him.  He could hear Lewis as he moved between bathroom and bedroom, and the soft ticking of the mantle clock as it drifted up the stairs.  There were creaks and groans, but nothing compared to those in James's almost-empty building.  Everything in the room was new, and though the bed was very comfortable, he wished he'd thought to bring his own pillow.  Never mind, he decided, he could always pick it up tomorrow.  
  
He looked around the shadowed room.  Lewis had apologised for not having heavier curtains to block out the light, but James didn't mind.  He was so tired he doubted it would have any impact.  His eyes drifted past the wardrobe, where a week's worth of clothes now resided at Lewis’s insistence.  A bedside table, and a small desk and chair completed the furnishings.  
  
James was still a little unsettled after his rude awakening in the afternoon.  He was thankful Lewis hadn't asked what he'd been dreaming about.  He couldn't have explained if he tried.  All he could remember was he was trying to get away again.  He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing.  His phone sat on the bedside table, white noise playing once again.  
  
A thump and scrape against the door made James jump. He bit back a yelp, held his breath and listened.  Another scrape was followed by a soft, sad meow, and James exhaled in relief.  He got up and opened the door, looking out into the hallway.  He could see Lewis's door was shut, which he thought odd.  Lewis had told him some time ago he’d had to get into the habit of leaving the door open because Monty always wanted to be on the other side of any closed door.  Monty squeezed in past his legs and leapt lightly up on the bed.  
  
“Oi, you,” James whispered.  “I don't know if you're allowed on the bed.”  Monty stared at him, and meowed softly once more before curling up in the middle of the bundled bedding.  James sat on the edge of the bed and peered at him.  With a quiet “ha”, James slipped back into bed, tugging the covers out from under Monty. He rolled onto his side, and bent his legs around Monty's huddled form.  The cat's presence and heavy purring were soothing, and James soon felt himself drifting off.  
  
James woke with a pained gasp, sitting up before his eyes opened.  An angry hissing pulled his attention to one corner and he flicked on the lamp, blinking against its glare.  Monty had pressed himself tightly into the corner of the room, diagonally opposite to the door.  His teeth were bared, and his pupils were so wide his eyes were almost completely black.  His tail was erect and bushy, and the fur on his steeply arched back bristled.  James had never seen Monty in this state before, not even after Lewis had moved house.  James suddenly realised he was shivering violently.  Gooseflesh rose over his body, and his breath fogged before him.  He dragged the bedclothes around him, never taking his eyes off the cat.  
  
As though a switch had been flicked, Monty hunched himself into a tight ball and began mewing pathetically.  The chill vanished, as though someone had placed another blanket over James.  Still he watched the cat.  Monty fell silent.  He remained hunched and shivering.  James approached him cautiously.  He'd seen the damage Monty could inflict when he was upset and didn't care to be on the receiving end.  The temperature in the room had changed rapidly, and James now found himself beginning to sweat.  He peeled off his t-shirt, but instead of throwing it on the floor he wrapped it around the trembling cat, and held him close.  
  
James sat cross-legged on the bed and settled Monty in his lap.  Exhausted by whatever had frightened him, Monty soon fell asleep.  James let his hand rest on Monty's back and focused on the steady rise and fall of his chest as he slept.  James looked at the door for the first time since being jolted from his sleep.  It was open wide, yet James knew he'd left it ajar.  Perhaps Monty had been frightened by something in the house and had ploughed into the door in his effort to flee, shoving it open.  Perhaps it was the thump of Monty's body against wood which had initially disturbed James.  
  
He decided to leave the door as it was so Monty could move around without disturbing him.  James gently moved Monty onto the mattress, donned a clean t-shirt, and lay back down himself.  He listened closely.  Whatever had happened, it hadn't woken Lewis.  There was no movement in the house.  Monty settled into the bend of James’s knees again and James closed his eyes.  
  
James woke with a loud gasp and sat bolt upright in bed, feeling completely disoriented.  He yelled when he saw someone beside the bed.  Pedalling his feet, he pushed his back against the wall.  When hands grabbed his arms, he started to fight against the hold.  
  
“James!  It’s me.  Calm down!”  
  
One arm was released and James screwed his eyes shut against the sudden light as the lamp came on.  He recognised the voice.  
  
“Rob– sir?”  James forced his breathing to slow.  
  
Lewis sat on the edge of the bed and let go of James’s other arm.  “Are you all right?”  
  
“Uh, I, er... it’s, ah... nothing.  Just a dream.”  
  
James closed his eyes.  _Some dream_ , he thought.  He’d been at Crevecoeur again, outside the hall, chasing the woman as she ran towards the summerhouse.  He’d caught up with her just past the wishing well.  The seam of her dress had been torn over one hip, as though she’d fallen.  She’d wheeled around and rushed at him, pushing him down the slope towards the lake.  He’d woken as he tried to stop himself falling in.   
  
“A dream?”  Lewis was incredulous.  “More like a bloody night terror!  You were thrashing around as though you were fighting someone, thumping on the walls – that’s what brought me in here.  Monty shot out like a bat out of hell as soon as I opened the door.  Then I couldn’t wake you.  And you were barely making a sound.  I've not seen anything like that since Mark was a toddler.  It used to scare the hell out of me and Val.”   
  
 _Opened the door?_ James was puzzled.  _But the door was wide open._   Whatever had happened, whatever Lewis had seen, James still wasn’t quite ready to tell Lewis everything.  
  
“Okay.  Maybe it was a nightmare,” he said softly, almost apologetically.  
  
“D'you want to... you know...?”  Lewis looked uncomfortable.  
  
James raised an eyebrow.  “Talk about it?”  
  
Lewis nodded.  
  
James shook his head.  “There’s nothing to talk about.  It was just a bad dream.”  
  
Lewis appeared to debate with himself.  “Maybe so, James, but something triggered it.  Nightmares don't just happen.  Not in this job.  I know you’ve not been sleeping well, but is there anything else?  Have you been feeling out of sorts?  A fever can...  
  
“I'm. Fine.”  
  
“When did you last see a doc–”  
  
James exhaled slowly and calmly.  “It was just a bad dream,” he repeated.  “Look...”  James reached across and quickly squeezed Lewis’s arm.  “I’m sorry I woke you.  Maybe staying here was a bad idea.  I'll go home tomorrow.  No point in both of us not getting enough sleep.”  
  
“Over my dead body.”  There was grim determination in Lewis’s voice.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“If you have another... episode... like that, when you’re by yourself, you could do yourself a nasty injury.  You could possibly knock yourself out – or worse.  No.  You stay here.  A bit of broken sleep's worth it to know you're going to be okay.  At least until you’ve managed to get a few good night’s sleep in, got your balance back.”  
  
James was hesitant, which Lewis picked up on.  
  
“Please, lad.  I'd never forgive meself if I let you go home now and something happened.”  
  
James acquiesced.  Satisfied, Robbie squeezed his shoulder.  
  
“You be all right now?”.  
  
“Ah, yeah.  Thanks.”  James hoped his smile was reassuring.  
  
Lewis studied him for a moment, before giving him a nod and leaving him alone.  
  
James got up and shut the door and dropped back onto the bed.  He stared at the ceiling, eventually dropping into a fitful sleep.  



	6. Friday

Lewis’s phone rang while they were having breakfast.  His responses were short, and all James was certain of was it wasn’t Lyn.  Lewis pressed his lips together after he ended the call, his expression thoughtful.  
  
“Get your jacket, lad.  They’ve found a skeleton at Crevecoeur.”  
  
James’s mouth went dry and he struggled to swallow he piece of toast he had in his mouth.  “Skeleton?” he managed to cough out.  
  
“According to the first on scene it looks like it’s been there for a while.”  
  
  
  
They arrived at the scene to find Laura Hobson and her team had arrived and were working with the SOCO team.  They were in the area behind the summerhouse where they’d seen the diggers setting up earlier.   
  
James followed Lewis down the slope, fighting an urge to put as much space between himself and the estate as he could.  They pushed their way through a small crowd of workmen who were watching the proceedings from behind the marked perimeter.  James quickly worked out what looked odd about the scene before him.  
  
“Why does it look like they’re digging two holes?  It must be a very large skeleton to take up so much space.”  
  
Lewis stopped abruptly.  James felt his feet slip on the turned soil and barely managed to stop himself slamming into Lewis’s back.  Lewis gestured for DC Hooper, who had been the first officer on the scene.  
  
“What have we got?”  
  
“They’ve found a second skeleton, boss, almost side by side, they are... sir.”  
  
“Definitely two?”  
  
“Dr Hobson’s positive, sir, and I won’t argue with her.”  
  
“Nor I, Hooper.  Thanks.  C’mon, James.”  
  
As they approached Dr Hobson, James was hit by the smell of lilacs.  He was baffled.  The trees had been stripped of their branches and most of the blooms which had fallen had either blown away or been ground into the earth.  There was a scattering of flowers on the ground but not enough to create the depth of fragrance James was experiencing.  Though the trees had been butchered and the ground deeply gouged, James recognised this as the place in his dreams, and the tree trunk closest to Dr Hobson was the tree the woman had stood near.  He was scanning the assembled crowd, half-listening as Lewis tried to extract more information on the skeleton, when he saw her – the woman from the photograph – standing at the rear.  He tapped Lewis on the shoulder and pointed.  He didn’t wait for Lewis’s response.  
  
Stepping around the photographer, James headed towards her.  She started to walk away from the group, following the line of the trees away from the scene, heading in the direction of Lodge Farm.  
  
“Excuse me, ma’am?” James called out, and started to jog towards her.   
  
Behind him, Lewis shouted, “Where are you going?”  
  
James stopped, looked back at Lewis, and frowned.  Surely Lewis could see the woman walking away?  James turned back to call out to her again but she was no longer there.  James quickly scanned back and forth.  There was nowhere beyond the trees she could have gone, certainly not in the brief seconds he’d taken his eyes off her, nor was she back with the crowd.  Puzzled, James began to walk back to the scene.  Looking at Lewis, James was astonished to see the woman appear behind him, just beyond the tape.  
  
He closed his eyes and briskly shook his head.  When he opened his eyes, Lewis was staring at him, worry etching his forehead, and the woman was nowhere to be seen.  James was overwhelmed by the smell of lilac once again, and suddenly Lewis was so far away.  
  
  
  
“James?  Can you hear me, lad?”  James recognised Lewis’s voice, though he sounded as if he was talking underwater.  
  
James frowned and fought through the unfamiliar fog in his head.  One side of his face felt warm, the other cold, and his head was pounding.  
  
“James.”  Lewis’s voice was closer and less muffled.  
  
James squinted against the light as he opened his eyes.  He instantly closed them tightly but the light still burned inwards.  He could see the woman’s face.  The light changed from deep red to black, and she disappeared.  
  
“James!”   
  
He slowly opened one eye to see Lewis hovering over him.  He became aware of Lewis’s palm against his cheek.  For a brief moment he thought the woman was leaning over him as well, her head almost touching Lewis’s.  He blinked slowly.  Dr Hobson’s concerned face now looked down at him.  She was leaning forward, her hand on Lewis’s shoulder for balance.  
  
“You know what to do, Robbie.”  James recognised a directive when he heard one.  
  
James pushed against the ground in an attempt to sit up.  Lewis pressed him back to the ground.   
  
“Lie still for a second and listen.”  The authority in his voice was undermined by the worry on his face.  “You fainted.  I want you to see a doctor.  Today.”  
  
“Sir...”  James barely recognised his own voice.  
  
“That’s an order, sergeant,” Lewis said with great concern.  James nodded gingerly, half expecting his head to start spinning again, and Lewis carefully helped him up, escorting him into the shade of an as yet untouched tree.  He left James in Julie’s care and headed back to the now uncovered skeletons.  
  
Julie brought James a bottle of water and crouched beside him.  “Paracetamol, sarge?”  The foiled strip sat in the palm of her hand.  
  
“Thank you,” James whispered gratefully.  He rested his head against the trunk and closed his eyes.  
  
“Uh oh,” he heard Julie murmur, “it looks like you’re in for a lecture, sarge.”  James looked up to see Lewis and Dr Hobson approaching, and groaned softly.  Julie quickly squeezed his hand, and stood up to stand behind him.  
  
Dr Hobson bobbed down next to James.  Peeling off her gloves, she felt his forehead and the back of his neck, and checked his eyes.  “How are you feeling?”  
  
“Like an idiot.  Bit of a headache.  Otherwise fine.”  
  
“You’re a terrible liar, James,” she scolded gently. He ducked his head and waited for the lecture which never came.  Instead, Dr Hobson filled him in on what they’d found.  
  
“Looking at the pelvises, we have one female, one male.  The way the roots have grown, she’s been there longer than him.  There’s nothing so far to identify either of them.  To get anything more, I’m going to have to call in a forensic anthropologist – bare bones are _not_ my field of expertise – and it’ll be a while yet before we can clear the scene.  James, see a doctor.  Robbie, make sure he does.”  
  
They both watched her walk away.  
  
“C’mon, James, on your feet.”  Lewis held his hand out.  “Nothing more we can do here.  Are you fit to drive?”  
  
“Ah, yeah.  Yeah, I think so.”  His headache and the dizziness were passing.  
  
Lewis gave him the once over.  “Right.  You’ve got the rest of the day off.  I'll drop you back at the house to get your car, and I’ll see you there tonight, okay?”  
  
James nodded and followed Lewis back to his car.  
  
  
  
James dropped his keys on the small table and dropped onto the couch.  He called his doctor’s surgery, and managed to get an appointment for later in the afternoon; an order was an order.  With a couple of hours to fill, he set an alarm on his phone, tilted his head back and closed his eyes.  The smell of lilac immediately filled his nostrils.  Sitting up with a jerk, he was disturbed to see Monty sitting stiffly on the coffee table, eyeing him warily.  James lay down and stared back, disheartened by the knowledge he was unlikely to get any sleep.  
  
  
  
After leaving his doctor, James went back to Lewis’s home by way of the chemist and Sainsbury’s.  With the chicken and vegetables in the oven, James settled on the couch to wait for Lewis to come home.   
  
As it had been an order, James decided it would best to get the details of the doctor’s visit out of the way as quickly as possible.  After greeting Lewis, he handed him a mug of tea, and both men sat down at the dining table.  
  
“The doctor didn’t tell me anything I hadn’t figured out for myself.  I’m sleep deprived and everything that’s happened is most likely the result of that.  He’s prescribed a sedative–”  James showed Lewis the box of capsules he’d picked up.  “–and he said if there’s no noticeable improvement after a week, I have make another appointment and he’ll arrange for me to have a scan to eliminate anything more serious.  He’s confident reducing my sleep def–”  
  
“Did you tell him everything?” Lewis caught James's eye.  
  
“I told him what he needed to know.  I’m having trouble getting to sleep and staying asleep, and I fainted today.”  
  
“James.”  He ignored James’s warning scowl.  “Don’t take it like that.  You’ve fainted twice in a week – you’ve never fainted before, at least, not in all time I’ve known you.”  
  
“I fainted once,” James protested quietly.  
  
“Okay, but something caused you to almost fall when you were examining the box inside the hall – stepped on a brick, my arse.  Did you mention the night terror or the injuries?”  
  
James remained silent.  
  
“James, you may or may not care about what’s happening to you, but I’m worried.”  
  
James shrugged apologetically.  
  
Lewis sighed.  “What else did the doctor say?”  
  
James’s shoulders sagged.  “Try to keep all electronics out of the bedroom, keep caffeine consumption to a minimum, no alcohol – it’s a depressant – and try to get as much fresh air as possible.  He also suggested a holiday might be useful.”  
  
“Perhaps you should get away for a bit.”  
  
“When we have two skeletons to identify and an arsonist to find?”  
  
Lewis shook his head.  “We’ve only got the arsonist.”  
  
“What?”  James frowned.  
  
“The skeletons haven’t been assigned to anyone as yet.  I spoke to Innocent, and nothing’ll be decided until the report’s in from the forensic anthropologist.”  
  
“But... we were called in?”  
  
“James...  They’re not connected to the arson.  If there’s evidence of wrongful death – and I’d be surprised if there’s not – then they’ll be treated like any other murder.  They’ll go to whoever’s at the top of the rotation, unless Innocent chooses to direct otherwise.”  
  
James grudgingly conceded.  He still wasn’t prepared to talk about the dreams or what he’d seen in the morning.  Nor could he explain his conviction the skeletons were somehow connected to the tin box without giving away more than he was willing to.  
  
Lewis drained his mug.  “In the meantime – fresh air and limited caffeine, eh?  You can start by throwing out those caffeine tablets you’ve been taking.”   
  
James's jaw dropped open.  “How..?  Never mind.  They’re in my desk.  I’ll get rid of them tomorrow.”   
  
Lewis gave him a wry smile then tipped his head towards the oven.  “Smells good.  Is it for eating or just to torture me?”  
  
James huffed a soft laugh.  “It’ll be ready in ten minutes.”  
  
  
  
They watched telly for a couple of hours after dinner.  James made a point of taking the prescribed sedative in front of Lewis, and heading off to bed half an hour later as instructed.  
  
“Are you going to be right to work in the morning?" Lewis asked.  “Last time I took something to help me sleep, I felt like I was swimming through treacle for most of the day.”  
  
“Doctor assures me there’s a minimal hangover effect with these.  They’re supposed to knock me out, with the effect wearing off overnight.  I do have to try and give myself a minimum of six hours in bed, though, otherwise they might leave me groggy.”  
  
“Off you go then.  Sleep well, James.”  
  
“Fingers crossed.”  James made his way upstairs, escorted by Monty.  
  
*****  
  
Shortly after 2am, Lewis was woken by a muffled crash.  He identified it as coming from the spare room where James was.  Getting out of bed as quickly as he could, he hurried to the door.  He grabbed the handle, twisted and pushed, swearing loudly when his shoulder slammed into the still closed door.  From inside the room he could hear thumping, similar to the sound which had woken him the previous morning, but no sound from James beyond the odd soft grunt.  He put his shoulder to the door again and shoved as hard as he could.  He was baffled.  There was no lock on the door, and it hadn’t stuck the night before.  Taking a step back, Lewis threw himself at the door, hitting it with hip and shoulder.   
  
The door flew open, almost throwing Lewis to the floor.  Something slammed into his shins; Robbie later realised it had been Monty.  Regaining his balance, Lewis flicked on the overhead light and took in the room at a glance.  The unlit lamp had fallen onto the floor and was rocking on its side, the shade askew.  James was on the floor with his arms flung up to cover his head.  He was rolling around as though to prevent his head being hit.  His t-shirt had ridden up and Lewis could see an ugly bruise blooming on his side before his eyes.  Before he could move towards him, James grunted loudly, as though the wind had been knocked out of him, and Lewis watched, horrified, as long scratches appeared on the exposed part of his arm.  Lewis dropped to James’s side.  As he reached for James’s shoulders to stop him thrashing about, he fell away roughly, as though someone had shoved him.  He got back onto his knees again, only to have the sensation of something slammed into his chest again.  This time he’d been better balanced and held his ground.  He would have sworn it hadn’t been James, yet it must have been, as there was no-one and nothing else in the room.  To his disbelief, more scratches appeared on James’s arm.  The bruise on James's side, the size of a large man’s palm was already black.  The skin around his wrists started to redden, and James seemed to be trying to stop someone pulling his arms away from his face.  The lack of noise from James was beyond unsettling.  
  
“James!” he bellowed, grabbing his shoulders.   
  
Still James continued to fight.  At a loss, Lewis tried to cover James’s body with his own.  James howled and lashed out, swinging his fists wildly.  He connected hard with the side of Lewis’s head.  Lewis grunted and scrabbled to grab James’s forearms, pinning them to the floor either side of his head.  He didn’t know what had happened to James’s wrists and wanted to avoid causing him any extra pain.  James started to buck and twist under him, and Lewis was afraid he would cause himself more harm.  
  
“James!  For pity’s sake, wake up!”  This time he roared as close to James’s ear as he could safely get.  
  
James’s eyes snapped open.  In all his years, Lewis had never seen such a look of pure terror.  James’s eyes locked onto Lewis’s, and his body went limp.  He started to shiver violently.  
  
Releasing James’s arms, Lewis lifted himself off him, and knelt to one side.  Slipping his arms under James’s shoulders, Lewis gently lifted James into a sitting position and twisted himself so he was sitting beside him.  He held James to his side with an arm around his shoulder.  James slumped forward and leant heavily against him.  His arms sat limply in his lap, the deep scratches plainly visible.  He was panting, and the shivering showed no sign of easing.   
  
Lewis held him close.  “James, what the bloody hell is going on?” he murmured.  His voice cracked, a combination of the fear he felt for James, and his own bewilderment at what he’d witnessed.  
  
He didn’t expect to hear the chain of events James now revealed.  James spoke softly, pausing when he started to rush.  The effort he needed to remain calm noticeably decreased as his story unfolded.  Lewis was impressed, though not entirely surprised, at James’s level of control.  He listened, his dismay growing, as James told him about a woman he’d been seeing since the first day at Crevecoeur, and the increasingly violent nightmares.  He swallowed down his questions when James identified her as the woman circled in the photograph, and what he believed her connection to Crevecoeur to be.  
  
Lewis let James speak uninterrupted, holding his tongue when James paused.  James’s body gradually stilled and his breathing returned to normal, and though Lewis could still feel James’s heart pounding, it had slowed down to a steady, reasonable rhythm.  
  
“This was the worst nightmare yet.”  James turned his arms in front of him, as though seeing the gouges for the first time.  “She was on the ground, not far from where the skeletons were found.  A large man was straddling her, and his hands were around her throat, choking her.  He called her... Helena, I think – something like that.  Then I was there.  It was my hands around her throat.  She kneed me in the side a couple of times, and clawed at my arms, and I couldn’t let go.  She tried to pull my hands away and then just went limp.  Then I was back beside the trees, and it was the other bloke strangling her – I think I’d been seeing things through his eyes.  I could hear someone or something running through the trees – then I woke up.”  He looked at Lewis, his eyes pleading for answers.  
  
Lewis understood it wasn’t simply the violence of the dream which disturbed James the most; it was his participation in it.  It also worried Lewis.  James wasn’t a physically aggressive person.  He could use his strength to subdue a violent offender, or defend himself if called upon, but Lewis couldn’t think of any circumstances which would cause James to attack a defenceless person, and yet his subconscious had produced that exact scenario.  Lewis, rattled by what he'd witnessed and heard, wanted time to attempt to make sense of it all.  
  
“Let’s get you cleaned up, eh?”  He stood and helped James to his feet and onto the bed.  “I’ll get the first aid kit.  Sit tight.”  
  
He came back to find James in front of the mirror on the wardrobe door.  He was looking at the bruise on his side.  
  
“This is where she kneed me.  These are the scratches she gave me, and where she grabbed me.  What the hell does it mean?”  Lewis couldn’t decide if he was relieved or worried about James’s controlled calm.  He still didn’t feel very calm and he’d only been a witness, not a... a what?  A victim?  A target?  
  
Fighting down his uneasiness, Lewis gripped James’s shoulder and looked him in the eye.  “I don’t know, James.  What I do know is you would never harm someone in that way.  Dreams, nightmares, they can mean a lot or nothing.”  James nodded, and the uncertainty in his eyes eased slightly.  “Look, just sit down here on the bed so I can clean those scratches.  Please.”  
  
James did as Lewis asked.  
  
Lewis concentrated on James’s wounds while he thought through the events of the past half hour.  This seemed to be far beyond the parasomnia Laura had told him about.  He understood dreams could be the subconscious trying to tell you something, they could be old memories, and they could be complete fantasy.  James’s dreams clearly weren’t the latter.  This was something entirely different.  Lewis had seen the injuries appear with his own eyes, from no apparent cause, and he hated the conclusion he came to.  He didn’t believe in an afterlife, and he certainly didn’t believe in ghosts.  It wasn’t something they’d ever discussed, but Lewis was confident James didn’t believe in ghosts either.  There had to be another explanation, though what it could reasonably be he was yet to determine.  
  
“Do you know who she is?" Lewis asked cautiously.  “Was she familiar at all, would it have been someone you knew as a child?”  
  
James shook his head, visibly frustrated.  “She may have been, but if it was the early eighties, as the uniform suggests... I was a kid.  I didn’t pay a lot of attention to any of the adults on the estate I didn’t have to.”  
  
“Can you describe the man you... saw?”  
  
James blinked in surprise.  He obviously hadn’t expected the question.  
  
“Ah, er, he...  Solid, stocky.  He was bent over her, so it’s difficult to guess his height, but I’d say he was tall.  His hair was dark, but I couldn't say if it was black, brunette or dirty blond.  I didn’t see his face.”  
  
“Do you think the two skeletons are connected?”  
  
“To each other or to the dream?”  
  
“Both.”  
  
“I think it’s more likely than not they’re connected to each other.  Two hidden skeletons implies wrongful death.  All Crevecoeur burials took place at the little cemetery behind the chapel.  Were these two buried on the grounds at some time prior to the existence of the chapel, I suspect they would have been discovered long ago.  It’s not as though they were buried very deep, nor very far from the hall.  Dr Hobson said they were buried at different times, so they could possibly be victims of the same murderer, it could be pure chance, or perhaps even a murderer and his victim.”  
  
“A murderer and his victim?  Like in your dream?  D’you really think that’s likely?”  
  
“It’s a possibility.  A faint one, admittedly, but the proximity suggests either an association between the two or an unfortunate coincidence.  A foot in one direction and whoever buried the man would have found the woman – unless they knew she was already there.”  
  
“I think it’s more likely they’ll turn out to be murdered by the same person, James.  Otherwise it implies someone covered up the first murder.”  
  
James thought for a moment.  “It’s possible a third person knew what happened to the woman – a witness, or someone who figured it out – perhaps they sought revenge for her death.”  
  
“Which brings us back to a murderer and his victim buried under the lilac trees.”  
  
James nodded slowly .  
  
Lewis sat on the bed beside him, and they sat in silence for a while.  Monty crept cautiously into the room, sitting alertly by the door.  His wide, dark eyes focussed on James.   
  
Lewis spoke softly.  “James, what do really think is going on?  With yourself, I mean.  What is it about this case?”  
  
James exhaled slowly.  Lewis waited for the brush off and the assertion that all he needed was a bit more sleep.   
  
James stared him in the eye.  “Do you believe in the possibility of ghosts, in good and evil spirits?”  
  
 _Not what I was expecting._   Lewis kept his face impassive.  He knew he had to answer carefully.  “I accept some people believe.  I know about the good and evil people do.  I can’t say I believe in ghosts or spirits though.  I didn’t think you would.  Surely the church doesn’t believe in the existence of ghosts?”  
  
“There’s nothing in the Catholic Catechism about ghosts or goblins, but the Church does teach the existence of spirits in the form of angels and demons.  We believe what Sacred Scripture confirms, that angels make appearances to man with God’s permission and for God’s purpose.” _  
  
_“I can understand the church believing in angels and demons, but they’re not ghosts, not like you’re talking about.”  
  
“Church teaching doesn’t rule out the possibility of ghosts, though it does forbid attempting to initiate contact with departed souls.”  
  
“You really think this is a ghost?”  
  
“I don’t want to, but if I believe in God, and the forces of good and evil, I have to accept the possibility those ‘forces’ could manifest themselves in some way.  Even CS Lewis had experiences in which he encountered an apparition of his deceased wife.  In his words, it was ‘extreme and cheerful intimacy... love itself’.”  
  
“There’s no love in what’s happening to you.  You don’t even know who she is.  For argument’s sake, let’s say this is a ghost.  Why is she... _haunting_ you?”  
  
James shook his head slowly.  “I don’t know.  But I need to find out.  I think... I don’t think the dreams are going to stop until I know who she is and who killed her.  I wonder... in the dream... if I’d seen it from her perspective, seen his face...”  
  
“James...”  Lewis rubbed the back of his neck.  “What if it’s just your mind playing tricks?  This whole sleep deprivation business can mess you about.  You wouldn’t be the first officer to succumb.”  
  
James held Lewis’s gaze.  “And these other officers have had injuries like this?”  James held up his arms.  “If it’s not a ghost, a haunting, then I have to consider there may be something wrong with me, with my brain, either physically or psychologically.  Given the choice, I’ll take the ghost, thanks.  I need to follow this through as far as I can, I need to be sure.  If we get the answers and the... incidents don’t stop, I promise I’ll get the cat scan.”  
  
“And if looks like it’s going to end up as a cold case?  Are you going to wait indefinitely?”  
  
“I’ll get the scan.  But not before; I don’t believe there’s anything physically wrong with me.”  
  
“The headaches?”  
  
“Tends to be a side effect of bashing your head against a hard surface.”  There was no snark in the statement.  
  
Lewis was at a loss.  James really believed there was more to his dreams.  He was a stubborn sod and Lewis knew trying to dissuade him would be a waste of time.  His energies would best be directed towards ensuring James stayed safe and didn’t sustain any further injuries.  
  
“Okay.”  He sighed gently.  “Do you think you’ll be able to get back to sleep?”  
  
James shook his head forlornly.  “And I can’t take another tablet now or I will be groggy in the morning.  I should have taken two, as the doctor suggested.”  
  
“Why didn’t you?”  Lewis was curious, not angry.  
  
“He said I could take between one and three.  He recommended two.  Then I could go up or down one depending on how they worked.  If it weren’t for the skeletons, I probably would have taken two, but I didn’t want to risk feeling hung-over... just in case.”  
  
“Fair enough.  I think I’d feel the same.”  He studied James closely.  “Look – you can say no – but...”  Lewis couldn’t suppress his worry for James, and hoped he wouldn’t feel he was treating him like a child.  “Since you can’t take anything, would you like to see if you can get back to sleep... in my room... with me.  Just for tonight.  For company, like.”  James hesitated briefly before nodding slowly.   
  
  



	7. Saturday

The shrill of the phone woke Lewis.  James wasn’t in the bed.  Lewis fumbled for his hand set, groaning when the caller ID showed ‘Chief Super’.  
  
“Morning, ma’am.”   
  
James appeared in the doorway, dressed in trousers and a long-sleeved shirt, and tilted his head in a query.  He didn't look like a man who'd taken a battering the night before.  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  Lewis looked at James and mouthed ‘telly’.  James disappeared downstairs, and seconds later Lewis heard the telly and stuttering voices as James scrolled through the channels.  He ended the call as James found the news story Innocent had called about.  
  
The discovery of the skeletons was headline news, complete with still photos and very amateur video.  
  
“Looks like a member of the clean-up crew managed to get footage before the scene was secured,” James remarked.  
  
“Innocent’s livid.  She’s been dealing with the fall-out since 5am.  She wanted to make sure we were aware.”  
  
“Oh, well, it’s not as though we weren’t going to be working anyway.”  James cocked his head.  “Oh, great,” he said flatly.  “They found someone from the 'this place is evil, destroy it' brigade.”  
  
“Not much we can do about that now.”  Lewis exhaled heavily.  “Ah, well, they'll get their wish soon enough when the hall comes down.”   
  
James dropped into the nearest chair and yawned.  
  
Lewis turned to look at him.  “Did you get any sleep after...?”  
  
James smiled gently.  “I did actually – at least two hours, I think.  Thank you.”  
  
Lewis had taken a while to drop off.  He would have laughed if someone had told him James would be the first person to share his bed again.  It hadn’t felt as odd as he thought it should have, but it wasn’t something he was quite ready to make a habit of either.  However, if James had no success with the sleeping tablets, he was willing to let James sleep with him until a resolution was reached.  If nothing else, he might be able to wake James from his nightmares before he hurt himself again.   
  
Despite what he believed he saw, between going back to sleep and now, Robbie had already convinced himself that, somehow, James had to have caused his own injuries.  
  
*****  
  
The first thing James did after walking into the office was to hand over the caffeine tablets.  Lewis slipped the packet into his jacket pocket.   
  
“I’ll get rid of them at home.  Wouldn’t do to have anyone accidently getting their hands on them.”  
  
Julie walked in shortly after they arrived with the report she’d compiled on the CCTV examination.  She handed it to James.  
  
“I didn’t realise you were rostered on today, Julie.”  Lewis rocked back in his chair.  
  
“I heard about the skeletons on the news.  I wanted you to have the report as soon as possible, sirs.”  
  
Lewis admired Julie’s dedication.  There were a few senior officers who could take a leaf out of her book, in his opinion.  
  
“Could you give me a summary before you go? Save Sergeant Hathaway from doing it later.”  
  
She returned his smile.  “There were two men who repeatedly turned up on the same cameras approaching Crevecoeur, Jack Price and his son Adam,” she summarised.  “Adam Price was known to DC Hooper.  He’d made threats to the redevelopers, threatening to burn the building to the ground, and was cautioned.  Jack Price owns a petrol station.”  
  
They thanked her, and James swiftly scanned the report as she left.  
  
“She’ll be on the next list of officers to go for promotion,” Lewis remarked.  
  
“She’s been ready for months,” James murmured.  He looked up.  “There’s enough here to justify bringing them both in.  Shall we?”  
  
“I’d like you to take the lead on this, and take Julie with you.”  James’s eyebrows arched.  “It’ll be good experience for both of you.  Julie’s not the only one who’s ready for promotion.”  
  
James’s exasperated huff reinforced the aborted discussions they’d previously had on the subject.  “Not today, please, sir.”  
  
Lewis raised a hand in surrender.  James collected his jacket and went to find Julie.  
  
Lewis rested his elbows on the desk and covered his mouth and nose with his steepled fingers, thumbs tucked under his chin.  He hoped focussing back on the arson would distract James from his fixation on the woman, and Lewis also needed time to think about this ghost business.  
  
 _I can’t accept a ghost.  But James is willing to accept the possibility.  Tell him to stop?  Humour him?  Be there for him._  
  
In the light of day, James’s injuries were easily explained.  He’d been thrashing about before Lewis broke into the room – he made a mental note to check the door for warping – so it was possible James had sustained the injuries prior to Lewis turning on the light, and what he’d actually seen was the blood oozing through as James’s heart-rate increased.  They could even have been caused by Monty if he'd been frightened again.  Lewis knew not all scrapes and scratches bled instantly.  And he must have hit his side as he’d fallen out of the bed.  A fall would explain a lot of the bruising which had come out over the intervening hours.  Lewis pushed back the voice which reminded him he hadn’t accepted James’s explanation of a fall for the earlier injuries.  
  
He couldn’t bring anyone else into this.  Whatever was going on was harming James more than just physically, and Lewis knew he was the only person who could try to protect him, because he was the only person James would allow to get close enough.  
  
Lewis had hoped sleep was all James needed, but if it was his subconscious at work, he doubted James would find his resolution until the mystery of the skeletons was uncovered.  Lewis hoped there was a solution.  
  
*****  
  
James and Julie were still interviewing the younger Price when Laura called through to advise the forensic anthropologist had delivered her preliminary report.  Lewis took a few moments to tidy his desk before heading out.   
  
The two skeletons were side-by-side on trolleys.  
  
“No James?” Laura asked curiously.  
  
“Julie uncovered two very solid suspects for the arson.  She and James are conducting the interviews.”  
  
Laura looked questioningly at him.   
  
“No.”  Lewis interpreted the glance.  “He’s still not interested in becoming an Inspector, but Julie’s sergeant material and needs the experience.  James is a good mentor, even if he can't see it.  It was a perfect opportunity.”  
  
“How is James?  After yesterday?”  
  
Lewis hesitated for a moment, wondering how Laura had heard about his nightmare, then he remembered she'd seen James faint.    
  
“He’ll be fine.”  Lewis hoped he sounded convincing.  “He saw his doctor, who thinks it’s all down to his lack of sleep.  He was prescribed sleeping tablets, and got a better sleep last night than he has been.  It’ll take his mind and body a little while to catch up, but he’ll be fine.”  
  
Laura’s stare reminded Lewis she knew him quite well, and was her way of telling him she suspected there was more to the story than he was saying.  He ran a finger along the stainless steel edge of one of the trolleys and gave his attention to the skeleton on it.  
  
“What can you tell me about these two?”  
  
“Have it your way, Robbie,” she said quietly, as she walked behind and around him to stand between the two trolleys.  She brushed his arm with hers as she passed him.  
  
“The woman was between 25 – 35, and approximately 170 – 175cm tall.  The hyoid bone was broken and the pattern of the break is unmistakeable; strangulation was the cause of death.  She was murdered.  Disturbingly, several cervical vertebrae were also fractured.  Whoever strangled her was powerful.  The man was between 45 – 55, and approximately 180 – 188 cm tall.  He was killed by a severe blow to the back of the skull, an injury consistent with striking a solid surface such as stone, brick or concrete.  Based on initial tests on the remains of the clothing and other artefacts found in the graves, including coins, he was buried somewhere between 1985 and 2000.  The woman had been there approximately ten years longer, being buried somewhere between 1975 and 1990.  Further tests are being conducted which may narrow the window; however, the results will take a few days.  They don’t work weekends.”  
  
“It’s a start, I suppose.”  Lewis had hoped for something to speed up their identity.  
  
“We’re not miracle workers, Robbie.”  
  
“I know.”  He took a deep breath.  His concern for James was making him impatient.  “Is there anything at all which might give us a start on identifying either of them?  What about dental records?”  
  
“Jane Doe’s have been sent out, though not much will happen with them until Monday.  John Doe, unfortunately, had no teeth.  Healing around the tooth sockets indicates they’d been removed possibly years prior to death.  The assumption is he had false teeth, though none were found in or around the graves.  Presumably they were either removed by whoever buried him, or he didn’t have them in when he was killed.  There were still quantities of viable marrow in the long bones of the legs of both victims, and samples have been sent for DNA testing, so we’ll have something to compare against if you – or whoever – does come up with a possible identity.  Will you be investigating them?”  
  
“I’m going to have a word with Innocent.  I think James and I should handle them.”  Lewis wasn't entirely confident delving into the skeletons' past wouldn't make things worse for James, but he did know James would be on edge if he wasn't involved in the case.  He hoped Innocent wouldn't ask too many questions.    
  
He was aware Laura was scrutinising him intently.  
  
“Robbie, why are these skeletons so important?  Do you know something?”  
  
“No.”  He knew he’d answered too quickly and too abruptly, but there was little he could to about it.  “We were the ones called out yesterday.  Only makes sense we investigate now they’re confirmed as suspicious deaths.”  
  
“And your arson?”  
  
“I’m confident James and Julie will have it wrapped within a day or so.  I can make a start on these two without him.”  
  
“Do believe the two skeletons are connected?”  
  
“Don’t you?  Buried within a couple of feet of each other?  It’d be a bloody odd coincidence if they’re not.”  He pointed to the folder.  “Could I get a copy of the report, please?  Since James isn’t here to remember all the details for me.”  
  
Laura smiled fondly.  “I’ll do it now, if you’d like to step this way.”  
  
*****  
  
Lewis passed a preoccupied and determined Julie on the way back to the office.  James was typing furiously and didn’t look up when he walked in.  Lewis settled himself behind his desk with the report, drew his keyboard towards him, and hoped the digitisation project had processed all the missing person’s files.  He was distracted by an urgent email from Human Resources concerning the performance appraisals of two of the team.   
  
He looked up about an hour later when James made a satisfied grunt.  
  
“You look pleased.  Successful day, then?”  
  
“The father hung the son out to dry.  Julie tripped him up with one question about kerosene suppliers.  As soon as he realised he couldn’t backpedal, he told us the whole plan, and the names of the others involved – uniform are rounding them up now.  Adam Price was a cool customer, and had a very plausible alibi.  Then Julie very cleverly slipped in a detail we’d picked up from the father, and Adam gave himself away – she’s bloody good, and she seems to have a knack for getting people to drop their guard.  When he realised what he’d done he flew into a rage, and then crumpled.  We’ll interview the others tomorrow, which should hopefully be straightforward, and Julie’s going to complete the paperwork for CPS.  I’ll check it, of course, but I don’t envisage any problems there either.  The case is as good as closed.”  
  
He sank back in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him, his feet poking out from beneath the modesty panel, and clasped his hands behind his head.  A satisfied smile spread across his face.  
  
“What have you got there?”  
  
“Our skeletons – and they are ours.  I had a word with Innocent.”  James’s face darkened.  “Don’t worry, James.  I didn’t mention anything about you.  Simply pointed out how it made sense.”  
  
James relaxed.  In one fluid movement he rose up in his chair and leant forward on his desk.  “So what do we have?”  
  
*****  
  
Lewis tidied the front room and kitchen before heading upstairs to get ready for bed.  After washing and donning his pyjamas, he checked on James.  He was asleep but restless.  His head rolled from side to side, and his fists clenched and unclenched.  Lewis was relieved he wasn’t thrashing about.  _Yet_.  As a precaution, he pushed James’s door fully open, and propped it with the desk chair.  He took the spare pillow James had tossed on the floor and placed it in the doorway where it would stop the door shutting completely if the chair failed.  He placed a rolled up towel in the doorway of his own bedroom.  After James told him he’d sleepwalked, he suspected James had closed his bedroom door – James knew he kept it open for Monty – and jammed the door to the spare room in his sleep.  If there was any possibility of James repeating those actions, he wanted to make it difficult for him.   
  
Lewis lay on his side, watching and listening.  
  
He’d thought he was going to have to physically drag James out of the office that evening.  Like Lewis, James had wanted to start searching missing persons immediately.  
  
“James.  Stop.  Wrap up the arson first.  The skeletons aren’t going to go anywhere.”  
  
“No, but the perpetrator or perpetrators might.”  
  
Lewis had crossed the office and pulled James’s keyboard and mouse away.  “James, you know as well as I do it won’t be a quick or straightforward search.  Concentrate on closing the arson case.  I’ll work through missing persons tomorrow.  I don’t want you to burn yourself out.  Please.  Just stop.  Let’s go home, get some dinner, relax, and see if you can’t get a decent sleep.”  
  
James had grudgingly packed up and followed Lewis out of the office.  Instead of picking up a takeaway, they’d opted to finish of the chicken and vegetables.  While they’d eaten, Lewis had judiciously avoided any mention of either case, and had steered the conversation away when James tried to bring it up.  Afterwards, they’d settled down to watch an old Hitchcock film.  Lewis had made cocoa halfway through, and was rewarded with a genuine, bright smile from James.  The two tablets James had taken with his drink had acted swiftly and he’d been half asleep by the time the movie finished.  Lewis had had to help him up the stairs, and to get changed and into bed.  
  
Lewis stiffened as an unnatural growling rose from under his bed.  
  
“Monty?” he called softly.  
  
The growl deepened.  It was a sound Lewis had never heard before.  There was no sign of Monty, and he usually came when Lewis called, ever hopeful of a snack or meal.  
  
Lewis thumped hard on the mattress three times.  The growl rose to a howl and was followed by a replying thump from under the bed, desperate scrabbling then something slammed into the wardrobe.  The growl, now from the direction of the wardrobe, became a piteous meow.  
  
“Monty?”  Lewis was out and at the foot of the bed in seconds.  Monty was pressing himself against the wardrobe door, as if he might be able to push his way inside.  Lewis had never seen him so spooked.  “What is it, b–?”  
  
A loud crash from James’s room had him running.  
  
The lamp was on and halfway across the floor, the cord stretched to its full length.  James was in the bed, curled up tightly on his side, his face screwed up tight.  He was still asleep, but his body was twitching and the sheet was tangled around his legs.  The room was unexpectedly cold, and Lewis could see his breath cloud in front of him.  Monty howled, the sound echoing down the hallway from Lewis’s room.  With a snap and pop, the lamp bulb blew and the room was plunged into darkness.  The chill started to dissipate immediately.  Lewis switched on the bedroom light.  
  
James’s face was smooth, and his body had relaxed.  His legs, still bound by the sheet were now stretched towards the foot of the bed.  Behind him, Lewis could hear Monty calling for attention.  Lewis stepped into the room and picked up the lamp.  He turned off the room light, and switched on the hall light, pushing the darkness back, something he hadn’t done since the kids were small.  Tugging the cord free of the socket, he wrapped it around the base of the lamp, all the while watching James, who now appeared to be sleeping peacefully.  Lewis carried the lamp back to his own room.  By the glow of the hall light he could see Monty was huddled in the middle of the bed, his wide eyes following Lewis’s every move.  Lewis put the lamp on the chest of drawers, planning to replace the bulb the following day.  After a second’s thought, he put it inside the wardrobe.  
  
Monty buried himself against Lewis’s side as soon as he lay down again.  After the third attempt, Lewis gave up trying to get him to shift, curving his body around him instead.  He stroked the trembling cat until he fell asleep.

 


	8. Sunday

Lewis woke before James.   He stood in the doorway of the spare room and watched James sleep.  James was curled up tightly, hugging the pillow to his chest, and the bed clothes were in a tangled pile at the foot of the bed.  Before heading into the shower, Lewis removed the other pillow from James’s doorway and replaced the chair by the desk.  He didn't remember the lamp until he heard James on the stairs.  If James didn't mention it, he wouldn't either.  
  
James came down to breakfast looking a little brighter than he had since he'd help Lewis moved house.  The bags under his eyes were still there, though not quite as deep, and while he was still paler than normal, he was holding his head higher and his eyes had regained some of their sheen.  He’d showered and dressed, the long sleeves of his shirt covering the ugly marks on his arms.  Lewis noticed he was favouring the side where the large bruise had bloomed.  He recalled James had had a slight limp a few days earlier.  He hadn’t said anything, assuming it was rowing related.  Now he wasn’t so sure.  
  
“How’d you sleep?”  
  
“Like the dead.  I don’t think I moved all night.”  
  
Lewis kept his face steady.  “Any dreams?”  
  
“I think there were, but I don’t really remember.  Did you sleep okay?”  James looked worried.   _The lamp_ , Lewis thought.   _He's wondering why it's missing._  
  
“Fine – once Monty settled himself down.  Don’t know what got into him at all.  James?”  Concern had washed over James’s face.  “Is something the matter?”  
  
“No,” James stammered, managing a wonky smile.  “He, ah... I discovered he likes to make himself comfortable.  I thought I was going to be sleeping on the edge of the bed the first night.”  
  
James kept his head down as he busied himself getting breakfast.  Lewis chose not to press him, or mention what he’d seen.  He was confident James was being honest with him, and if James had no recollection of anything, Lewis wasn’t going to worry him.  He picked up his coffee and carried it to the table.  He stopped, his attention drawn to Monty who was sitting on the back of the couch, his eyes fixed on James.  As Lewis watched, a angry tremor rippled through Monty.  Lewis had assumed he'd been upset by James's thrashing and nightmares; now he wondered if Monty was reacting to James himself.   
  
*****  
  
While James and Julie continued to work on the arson investigation, spending the entire day interviewing, charging and processing the other participants named by Price, Lewis continued his ultimately fruitless search through missing persons.  He looked at all women who had been reported missing in Oxfordshire between 1975 and 1990, seeking those who matched the approximate height and age ranges.  He even tried searched for missing Helenas, Helens, Ellens, and Annas, regardless of their ages or the dates.  Having exhausted all the permutations he could think of, he pulled out the report on the male skeleton and started all over again.  The results were no different, and without further information, it was almost pointless sending enquiries out to neighbouring forces.  
  
By the time James came back into the office, Lewis was more than ready to call it a day.  James looked as worn as Lewis felt, groaning as he lowered himself slowly in to his chair.  
  
Robbie stretched back in his chair.  “Do you have much more to do, or is the case ready to go to CPS?”   
  
James leant heavily on the desk.  “Julie wanted to complete the last of the paperwork today, but with all eight in the cells, we’ve the luxury of at least another twenty-four hours.  I sent her home half an hour ago while I finished up with the Custody Sergeant.  And you?  Any progress.”  James started to chew on the side of his thumbnail.  
  
Lewis wished he had better news.  “While it was heartening to discover the number of unsolved missing persons’ cases is smaller than I’d anticipated, I’ve drawn a blank so far.  Laura’s still waiting to hear if there’s a match on the woman’s dental records, so there’s still a possibility of finding out who she is from those.”  
  
James sighed heavily.  “There might be another way.  Titus Mortmaigne gave the estate’s records to a historical society, and I’m assuming the employee and tenant records were included.  I’m going to contact him to get permission to go through them.”  
  
“Leave it for tomorrow, eh?  Time for home, I think.”  
  
“Agreed.”  
  
*****  
  
Apart from picking up a takeaway on the way home, the first part of their evening was almost a repeat of the previous night.  Still slightly embarrassed Lewis had had to help him up the stairs, James waited until the film had ended before he took the sleeping tablets, heading up to bed straight afterwards.  Lewis followed him up barely twenty minutes later, only to find him fast asleep.  At first glance he seemed peaceful enough.  When Lewis checked on him after leaving the bathroom, he was restless, tossing and turning once again.  As he watched, James rolled onto his side and curled up tight again.  Lewis felt helpless.   
  
“Standing here’s not going to change anything,” he muttered to himself, pushing himself up off the door frame.  He propped James’s door open once again and headed for bed.  He took a couple of steps and shivered as he passed through a sudden cold spot.  
  
“That’s bloody odd.”  The nights were still mild, and he had no explanation for the chill.  
  
Lewis lay awake until well after midnight.  He resisted the urge to check on James again.  James wasn’t a child suffering from night terrors as his Mark had.  He had to trust he’d hear if James’s night became violent again.

 


	9. Monday

Lewis walked into the kitchen to find James making scrambled eggs.  _At least his appetite hasn’t been affected by all this dream business._   The bags around James’s eyes had diminished significantly after two nights, but he still looked weary.  
  
“Morning, James.  How was your night?”    
  
“Fine, I guess.”  His brow creased lightly.  “I know I dreamt, but I can only remember fleeting images.  And I feel like I’ve been running all night; my legs are like lead.”  
  
Lewis hadn’t heard a thing.  _Should I have checked on him?_  He stopped before he berated himself too harshly.  Even if he had known James was restless, what could he have reasonably done?  He couldn’t keep waking him because he _might_ be in the grip of a nightmare.  Nor could he treat him like a child and keep watch over him all night.  
  
*****  
  
Having heard about the discovery of the skeletons, Titus was more than willing for James to have access to the Crevecoeur records, going so far as to contact the historical society himself.  The director, Robert McCall, contacted James less than twenty minutes after James had spoken to Titus.  
  
Lewis’s curiosity was piqued when James didn’t leave immediately.  “Whereabouts are these records being held?”  
  
“In Mr McCall’s basement.”  Lewis grimaced, and James peered over the top of a pair of non-existent spectacles.  “Their resources are stretched to the limit, and they’re still in the boxes in which they arrived, unsorted and uncatalogued.  He uses the basement as an office and is happy for me to work there.  It makes more sense than dragging the boxes in here.”  
  
“Well, off you go, then.  The sooner you start, the sooner we might have something.”  
  
James blinked.  “The arson.  The paperwork’s not completed.”  
  
Lewis rolled his eyes.  “I can deal with that."  He smiled kindly at James.  "You’re going to fidget and be otherwise distracting until you can get out there and start looking.  Do _me_ a favour and go now.”  He pointed a thumb towards the door.  “Go on.”  
  
*****  
  
Satisfied with James’s credentials, McCall left him alone in the house with a spare key and permission to return at any time.  The basement was well organised but cramped.  Rows of packed shelving filled two thirds of the available space.  The Crevecoeur materials had been stacked beside a large uncluttered desk.  James counted thirty large boxes in total.  There was space on the other side of the desk for James to restack the boxes when he’d finished with them; he’d been given strict instructions not to place them on the shelves.  
  
“I have a system, Mr Hathaway.  It may not look like it, but I do.”  
  
After looking through two of the boxes, James realised they were not only unsorted, they had also been packed haphazardly.  He found tenancy documents and music scores in the same box as a file of catering receipts.  He had his work cut out for him, and he didn’t envy whoever would have to create order from the mountain of paper before him.   
  
His plan had been to locate the employee records which covered the date ranges for the burials, and looking for employees who had left Crevecoeur without a reference or notice during that time.  Now he was also tasked with sorting through the boxes simply to find the relevant records.  Systematically working through one box at a time, James removed any references to employees which fell within either of the time periods, creating two separate stacks on the large desk.  He labelled each ledger, book or file with a sticky note indicating which box they’d been removed from.  He didn’t need to find all the records, just those which fell within the two year spans he was focussing on.  
  
The basement was stuffy, a situation not helped by the fact the two small window windows near the ceiling were blocked by shelving and boxes.  For the first time in many years, James was thankful his smoking forced him outside for regular breaks.  The irony of going out for a smoke to get some fresh air was not lost on him.  
  
By mid-afternoon he’d worked his way through twenty of the boxes.  One stack contained files of employee records from 1975 to 1990, in which he hoped to find the woman.  The second pile, for the man, was smaller, and currently covered from mid-1996 to 2000.  The records within those files were as haphazard as the boxes, seemingly added without any thought given to being able to find them later.  They were a stark contrast to the more recent files he’d come across – those which would have been maintained by Paul.  Those records had been filed by calendar year, alphabetically by surname and then by date, and had included items such as medical bills, and education fees, where the payments had been made by Mortmaigne.  James had lost time tracing Paul’s ‘history’ at Crevecoeur over a period of nearly ten years.  
  
James folded his arms on the table and lay his head down.  The various documents had stirred up memories, both bittersweet and unwanted, and he felt overwhelmed.  He closed his eyes, planning to rest for few minutes before starting his search through the records he’d found.  
  
  
  
James opened his eyes to see his father standing before him.  He was his father’s double, always had been, and for a split second he thought he was merely looking into a mirror.  Flashes of memory shot across his mind.  He heard his father talking about him to unseen visitors in their kitchen at Lodge Farm.  James was the ‘awkward, gentle boy who couldn’t possibly be his’, yet his parentage was undeniable.  His father had wanted a strong lad, ‘not a mother’s boy like the Hopkiss child’.  ‘How would James be able to defend himself against His Lordship?’  James lifted his head up and looked at his father, who stared back blankly.  His lips started to move but there was no sound.  One gnarled and calloused hand reached towards James’s where it lay on the desk.  James felt the cold before the dry skin touched his own.  
  
James sat up with a jerk, and looked at his hand where his father had touched him.  He yelled in horror and threw himself backwards, flinging the two inch spider which had been crawling across the back of his hand against the wall.  
  
A card-carrying arachnophobe, James shuddered violently.  “Time to leave.”  He gave himself a moment to calm down and to decide whether or not he would tell Lewis what he’d dreamt – _dear God, let it be a dream_.  He decided to say nothing, not wanting Lewis to worry about him falling asleep during day again.  
  
He gathered up the three overfull files which covered 1975 and 1976, and left a note for Mr McCall on his kitchen table, advising he’d be back the next day.  Though he had permission to return, James felt it was courteous to let him know.  
  
*****  
  
James sat cross-legged on the couch next to Lewis and flicked through the first of the files.  A repeat of Time Team was on the telly, and James turned the pages carefully to keep the rustle of old paper to a minimum.  Lewis had slumped down, with his feet propped up on the coffee table, and his eyes were half closed.  James looked at him fondly.  Over dinner, Lewis had asked James to call him ‘Robbie’ when they were off duty.  
  
"Thank you, sir, but I'm not sure I can.  It's not solely about respect or habit; it's comfortable."  
  
Lewis nodded slowly.  "I don’t want you to anything which makes you uncomfortable here.  One day, perhaps?"  
  
“Perhaps.”  James had smiled cheekily.  “I will promise to make an effort not to use ‘sir’ too often in the house.”  
  
Lewis reflected his grin.  “I can’t ask for much more.”  
  
James felt his days and evenings with Lewis were falling into a pattern, though he wished the circumstances could have been different.  He was certain he was still experiencing the dreams, having woken the past two mornings with fleeting images of the trees, the woman, and the man who was strangling her.  In addition, he’d ached from head to toe until he’d had his shower.  He assumed the sedative was either suppressing the dreams or simply not allowing him to remember them, and the aches and physical exhaustion were possibly a result of sleeping in one position most of night.  Most importantly, though, as far as James was concerned, he’d woken with no further injuries.  The deep scratches on his arms were healing, but he’d become annoyed when it became obvious they were going to leave scars.  
  
James knew Lewis was worried about him.  He’d noted the chair propping the door and the pillow in the doorway when he’d woken that morning, and the missing lamp the day before.  Lewis had explained how James’s door had been jammed the night he’d been injured, which explained the chair and pillow, but had said nothing about the lamp.  James assumed he must have knocked it over again, and Lewis had removed it so it wouldn’t get broken.  He was thankful Lewis wasn’t the type to make a fuss, being more inclined to do practical things to help, like offering James a bed.  However, it hadn’t stopped him waking up expecting to find Lewis sitting in the chair by the desk, watching him, having kept a vigil.  
  
Not being by himself had been a blessing, and James was saddened his time here would have to come to an end at some point.  
  
He picked up the second file.  The haphazard nature of the contents made it a slow process.  Using the information from the forensic report, James had determined the woman could have been born between 1940 and 1965.  When he found a woman who matched the criteria, he made a note of the name and any details.  As he found further information, he either kept them on the list or eliminated them as a possibility.  Thankfully, the staff turnover rates didn’t appear to be high, and his list currently contained only twenty names.  
  
“Only,” he muttered sarcastically, ruffling the contents of the file.  
  
Closing the file, he looked across at Lewis, who had fallen asleep.  His head had tipped back and he was snoring softly.  James went to the kitchen to make cocoa.  He’d been enjoying this part of their ‘routine’, even though he had no idea if it was something Lewis did normally, or if he had done it for James’s sake.  It was comforting, and made it easier to take the bitter sleeping tablets.  He took the drinks through, nudged Lewis with his knee, and returned his warm smile as Lewis pushed himself up on the couch and reached for the mug.  
  
  



	10. Tuesday

Back in McCall’s basement the following day, James continued his search to identify their Jane Doe.  Before he sat down he placed a rolled up newspaper (held in place with three fat elastic bands) and a can of insect spray on the desk.  Any spider which came near him today did so at its own peril.   
  
After a couple of hours he found a reference to a Helena Cooke, who had worked as a housemaid starting 1981.  He recalled the engraved initials on the jewellery found in the box and swallowed down the flutter of excitement which rose in his chest.   
  
According to the records, Helena left Crevecoeur without notice or a reference in April 1983.  Her year of birth was recorded as 1956, which would have made her 26, possibly 27, when she disappeared.  There was no indication any attempt had ever been made to track her down.  James, in fact, came across a small scrawled note, stapled to an unrelated document, stating the clothing Helena had left behind had been donated to Oxfam a week after she was reported to have left.  James continued to search, in case more than one woman matched the details provided.  By late afternoon, he had had identified two other women.   
  
He now had names, birthdates and old addresses for three different women who all left without notice within the stated time period, and would have been within the right age range at the time they left.  One – or none – of them could be their skeleton.  James’s gut instinct told him the female skeleton was Helena, but he had to be thorough.  His next step would be to see if he could trace any of them beyond the walls of the estate.  If he were able to locate dental or medical records for these women, it could bring them one step closer to identifying the woman.  In James’s mind, the best outcome would be to trace her family and give them some answers.  Someone somewhere must have missed her.  
  
James carefully packed the records he’d searched into a spare box provided by Mr McCall, keeping out the records from 1985 to 1990.  These he added to another box containing the files he’d previously separated out covering the man’s burial period.  After talking it over with Lewis, he’d decided to work on one skeleton at a time.  He looked at the remaining ten boxes and checked his watch.  They would have to wait until he was ready to recommence the search for the man.  
  
*****  
  
After dinner, James discussed what he’d found and organised his notes.  Lewis agreed Helena Cooke was a likely prospect.  
  
“Do you want to concentrate on her, and I’ll take a look at the other two?” Lewis offered.  “Divide and conquer?  The arson charges were signed off by Innocent this morning and are now with CPS for review, so I’m relatively clear.”  
  
“There’re still ten more boxes in McCall’s basement to be sorted through.  I’m sure I could arrange to have them brought to the office if you didn’t fancy spending half a day in the basement.”  James’s attempt to look innocent was spoiled by a half-grin.  
  
“I don’t think Innocent would see that as a good use of my time,” Lewis countered.  “You handle the enquiries into Cooke tomorrow and I’ll take the other two.  Then you can get back to your dusty boxes.”  
  
Tired from spending a full day in a stuffy basement, James had an early night.  As he’d done on previous nights, he downed two sleeping tablets with cocoa.  He watched as Monty poked his head in the doorway of the bedroom and growled, before galloping back down the stairs.  James waited for the thud when he failed to negotiate the bend in the stairs at high speed, and winced.  Monty had repeatedly done the same thing ever since James had had his most violent nightmare on the Friday night.  He consistently kept his distance from James, and refused to even step into the bedroom when James was there, not even for food; James had tried.  As the tablets started to take effect, James pulled another blanket out of the wardrobe and threw it over the bed.  He’d noticed early on this particular room was cooler than the rest of the house, but it was significantly colder tonight.  James shuddered as he pulled the covers up to his chin and sleep overtook him.  
  
  
  
Lewis slumped against the doorway, dismayed, watching as James thrashed about violently.  His face twisted and contorted as his body jerked and heaved, and muted, pained grunts and moans escaped between gasped breaths.  Whatever was happening was far from over.  
  
Lewis tried to wake him, but was unable to break through the grip of the sedative.  Even switching on the light had no effect.  Lewis was considering slapping his face when James gasped loudly and went limp.  
  
“James?”  Lewis gently pressed his hand against James’s chest.  The rhythmic flutter beneath his fingers, and the regular rise and fall of James’s chest began to calm his unease.  
  
His eyes fluttered open briefly, and a soft moan escaped as he exhaled.  He was asleep and his breathing was slow and steady.  Lewis lowered himself onto the chair, dropping his head into his hands.  Eventually he had to go to bed.  _Surely James has to remember this dream._


	11. Wednesday

James moved cautiously down the stairs, forcing his legs to work properly.  Judging by the state of the bedclothes when he woke, he realised his dream had been very physical, which explained his body’s screaming protests at every move.  However, his shower had eased the worst of the aches, and he hoped the stiffness would ease off as he moved around.  There was very little he could do for the stinging across his lower back and thighs.  James was dreading Lewis’s response to this development.  Though there had been no sign Lewis had been in the room, James knew, if it had been as violent as he thought, there was a high probability Lewis would have been aware of it.   
  
He walked into the kitchen, concentrating on controlling his limp.  He rubbed the ache in the back of his neck and slowly stretched the taut muscles from side to side.  Lewis was seated at the table, his head bowed over his coffee.  James lowered his hand and straightened up.  
  
“Morning.”  He filled and drained a large glass of water, leaning gingerly against the worktop to watch Lewis.  
  
Lewis raised his head slowly and appraised him.  “How are you feeling this morning?”  
  
“I’ve a bit of a stiff neck, but otherwise I’m–”  James faltered at Lewis’s challenging stare.  
  
“The truth, James.”  James knew a warning when he heard one.  “Monty woke me with his growling again.  Something told me to check on you.  I watched you thrashing about for nearly fifteen minutes.  I had to pull the bedside table away so you wouldn’t strike your arms or head on it.  I shook you to try and wake you but it didn’t work.  I shouted your name.  Nothing.  Then you gave out this almighty gasp and went limp and completely still.  I didn’t know what to think.  I checked your pulse and breathing, and sat by the bed for nearly an hour until I was sure you were sleeping.  You gave me a hell of a fright, James.  What did you see?  What happened?”  
  
James braced his hands against the table and slowly sat down, trying not to wince as he settled himself on the edge of the chair.  He leant heavily against the table, holding his arse off the seat.  It was an awkward position, and he knew if he stayed there too long, his shoulders would start to ache, but it was preferable to the alternative.   
  
“It started out the same as this dream.”  He held out one arm with its slowly healing scratches and fading bruises.  “Except this time there was another person in the dream – my father.  He saw me and chased me.  I ran away as fast as I could.  I heard him chasing after me, his footfalls getting closer and closer, and then the stinging began; he was belting me.”  James’s breath hitched and he rubbed his hand over his mouth.  “I was trying to reach the stables.  There was one part of the loft no adult could get into, and I used to often hide from my father there.  I made it.”  
  
Lewis was silent for several long minutes.  He studied James, his hand covering his mouth, his eyes heavy with concern.  
  
“Your father was chasing you, belting you?”  
  
“Yes.  No.  I assume it was him.  I didn’t stop to look.  I was too afraid.”  
  
“This has to stop, James.  You’re asleep, but you’re not getting any rest.  How were you hurt this time?  And don’t tell me you weren’t – I saw the way you were moving, and the look on your face said you were being hurt.  But you hardly made a sound again, and that was bloody terrifying.”  
  
James considered various lies and half-truths.  In the end, he couldn’t deny the plea in Lewis’s eyes.  He stood slowly and turned his back to Lewis.  He unfastened his trousers and stepped away from the table.  Holding in a deep breath, James let his trousers fall and lifted the back of his shirt.  He screwed up his face in distress at Lewis’s strangled cry.  
  
“What the bloody hell...?  James... how... what...?  Those need seeing to, lad.”   
  
The horror in Lewis voice matched what James had felt when he’d looked in the mirror after his shower, trying to see what had stung so much.  The marks across his lower back, buttocks and thighs had thrust him back to his final years at Crevecoeur, where it seemed he could do nothing to please his father.  A chair scraped back and James fumbled to pull his trousers up.  The injuries meant he couldn’t move as quickly as usual.  A warm hand came to rest against his back before he could properly redress.  
  
“James, what happened?” Lewis asked quietly.  Fingertips gently traced around the new injuries and several old scars.  “Good God, man, this isn’t the first time, is it?”  
  
James shook his head slowly.  “I was twelve the last time.  Just before I left for school, my father found me talking to Paul under the piano in the summerhouse.  I never understood his fury, but he chased me back to the house, striking out at me with his belt.”  
  
“The bastard used the buckle.”  Anger replaced worry.  
  
James nodded.  “Never to this extent, though.  Once, maybe twice if he thought I’d done something particularly heinous.”  
  
“James, most of these are scrapes and welts, but some are deep.  You have to let someone look at them.”  
  
“You know I can’t go to a doctor or the hospital with this.”  James worked to keep his anger under control.  None of this was Lewis’s fault.  “You can’t possibly think I managed to do this to myself; self-flagellation was never my form of penance.  What would I tell them?  A ghost attacked me?  How long do you think it would take for that to get back to Innocent?  And then what?”  
  
He allowed Lewis to guide him back to the chair.  
  
“What about Laura?” Lewis suggested.  “I really wanted to keep this between the two of us, but I also want someone who knows what they’re doing to look at those wounds.  You’ve blood on your shirt and trousers, James, and I’m not going to simply stick a plaster over the top for you.  I don’t know if Laura believes in ghosts, or whatever this is, but she won’t say anything to anyone if we ask her not to.  Please, James.”  
  
Lewis had asked calmly.  James’s own anger and fear began to fade.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Lewis retrieved his mobile from the bench and made the call.  
  
*****  
  
Laura arrived promptly and was greeted with coffee and toast, having muttered to Lewis about ‘unofficial call-outs’ before breakfast.   
  
“We really appreciate this, Laura.  I’m sorry I had to bother you on your day off, but I didn’t know who else to call.”  
  
“You’ve got me intrigued, Robbie.  ‘We’ve got a unique problem, and can you bring a medical kit?’” she quoted back.  “I don’t see any corpses, unless you’re hiding them under the floorboards, so I have to assume it’s one of you two.  I kept asking myself, ‘what could be so unique, they couldn’t take it to their GP?’.”  
  
“It’s more the how than the what,” James explained.  Lewis noted he couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with Laura.  She’d also noticed.  
  
“What’s going on?  Oh, wait.  Would I be right in assuming you don’t want Innocent to get wind of whatever this is?”  
  
“It could be awkward if she did,” James mumbled.  
  
Laura’s eyes widened, and a flush rose up her neck and cheeks.  “Oh, you two aren’t... you haven’t, um...  Is there something going on between you two?”  
  
“Something going...”  Lewis caught sight of James’s blush and wild gaze, and the penny dropped.  
  
“No!  We’re mates, me and James, best mates, but that’s where it ends.”  
  
“But James is staying here, isn’t he?  It would explain why his car’s in the garage and yours is behind it.”  
  
Lewis was forcibly reminded Laura was a trained observer, and possibly better than many detectives.  “Aye, he is, but not because we’re... bloody hell, Laura, where’d you get an idea like that?”  
  
“It could possibly be the fact it’s next to impossible to separate you two.  Look at you now.  You’re sitting so close to each other, I can barely see daylight between your arms.  You have no sense of personal space when you’re with each other.”  
  
She laughed as Lewis and James simultaneously looked at their arms where they leant on the table.  From elbow to shoulder they were practically touching.  James shrugged.   Neither moved.  
  
“If it’s not that – and I don’t know if I’m disappointed or pleased – why is James here?”  
  
Lewis passed the question to James, giving him control over what he wanted to reveal.  James explained about the nightmares and the connection to their current case.  Lewis could feel the tension radiating off him.  James chose his words carefully, avoiding words such as ghost or spirit, nor did he mention having seen a mystery woman during the day.  Lewis kept waiting for Laura to accuse them of pulling her leg, but she was taking it completely seriously.  
  
“These injuries,” she asked when James finished speaking, “that’s why I’m here?”  
  
James nodded.  
  
“Are they the same as before?  Scratches and bruises?”  
  
“Same as before?”  James stared in quiet disbelief at Lewis.  “You’ve already told Laura, yet you've just told me you wanted to keep this between us?”  
  
Lewis took a deep breath and spoke calmly.  “When you had the scratch on your face and the bruised wrist, I asked Laura if it was possible for someone to hurt themselves in their sleep and not know it.  I was worried you’d been assaulted and for some reason didn’t want me to know about it.  That’s all.  Okay?  I didn’t know about anything else then.”  
  
“Oh.”  James backed down.  “I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay.  You’ve been through a lot.  I hope you know I’d never break your trust.”  
  
“I do.”  James offered a grateful smile.  He addressed Laura.  “No, it’s a bit more than scratches and bruises.”  
  
“May I see them?”  
  
Laura’s eyes widened in shock when James showed her the welts and gouges on his back.  “There’re more... under the boxers.”  
  
Laura found her voice.  “Robbie, I’m surprised at you.”  She was equally furious and pragmatic.  “James being a stubborn sod and trying to hide it, I can understand.  But you?  You’re supposed to be looking out for him.  How could you let things get to this point?”  
  
Robbie defended himself.  “James has been staying here, so I can do just that – or at least try to – and until last night, it looked as though whatever it is was under control.  How do you defend against something you can’t see?”  
  
Laura regarded him steadily for a moment then returned her attention to James.  
  
“I'll need you to lie on your stomach if I’m going to treat those wounds.  The kitchen table would be the best height, but if you’d be more comfortable on the bed, I can manage.”  
  
“I’d rather not climb the stairs again, not just yet.”  
  
“I’ll get a cloth for the table,” Robbie offered.  
  
“Towels or a duvet would be better, Robbie.  Thank you.  And draw the curtains.  God knows what the neighbours would think.”  Laura’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.  She was as worried about James as he was.  
  
With the table covered in Lewis’s thickest duvet and a sheet thrown over the top, James stripped off his shoes and trousers and let Lewis help him up onto the table.   
  
Laura rested a hand against the small of his back and began to clean the larger wound over his hip.  
  
Laura worked methodically and silently, cleaning and dressing the three open wounds on his back and a larger one on the back of his left thigh.  
  
Robbie wondered what Laura was thinking.  She’d listened attentively to James, but had neither commented nor asked him any questions.  
  
“Laura, doesn’t it strike you as odd – these injuries with no apparent physical cause?”  
  
“There’s always a cause, Robbie.  It’s the labels we give to them which can vary.  I did some further reading on parasomnias after we talked.  The mind’s a powerful thing, and there’s still so much which isn’t understood.  Injuries like this, and worse, are documented.”  
  
“Mind over matter?  Is that what you’re saying?”  
  
“Is it any harder to believe than a ghost?  Which is, by the way, a completely plausible explanation.  James, please try to lie still.  I don’t want to accidently hurt you.”  
  
James had pushed himself up on his elbows and was now watching over his shoulder.  
  
Lewis struggled with her answer.  “Are you saying you believe in ghosts?”  
  
“I believe there are things we can’t explain yet, and things we’ll never be able to explain.  Why couldn’t it be a ghost?  If I had to chose between being attacked by a ghost, or by the power of my own mind, I’d pick the ghost.  The idea my thoughts could do something like this to me is, quite honestly, terrifying.”  
  
“Exactly how I feel,” James murmured.  
  
Laura finished dressing James’s thigh.  She placed her hands against the waist band of his boxers.  “May I?”  
  
James nodded.  He buried his face in his now folded arms and a red flush crept over his shoulders and neck when Laura gently pulled his boxers down.  Laura lifted off several gauze pads which James had presumably applied, albeit haphazardly, and Lewis winced at the three fresh wounds and old scars.  From the number of thin white lines visible, it had clearly been his father’s preferred strike zone.  
  
Laura rested her hand against James’s hip.  “James, was you father left-handed, or was his backhand stronger than his forehand.”   
  
Lewis had also noted the worst injuries and scarring were clustered on James’s left-hand side.  
  
“He favoured the backhand,” James murmured flatly.  
  
“Someone should have taken a belt buckle to him.”  Laura’s hand trembled with rage.  “No adult should do this to any child – any person – let alone a parent to their own.”  She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes.  “Have you ever experienced anything like this before?”  
  
“No.  I’ve had nightmares, what kid doesn’t, but nothing like this.”  James voice was slightly muffled against his arms.  
  
As Laura worked, Lewis had witnessed James’s muscles repeatedly tense and relax, his fingers clench and release.  He imagined the wounds were extremely painful, if not excruciating, yet James had borne it silently.  
  
Laura replaced James’s boxers.  “Let Robbie help you off the table.”   
  
She started to clear up and pack away.  Lewis held James’s arms as he regained his feet, and retrieved his trousers from the back of the chair.  
  
“The bruising will come out over the next few days, so you need to take it easy,” Laura instructed.  “Try to avoid anything too strenuous – no rowing or jogging – and use a cushion, otherwise sitting for any length of time will be decidedly unpleasant.  Try not to stay in one position for too long over the next couple of days, even if you simply stand up at your desk once or twice and hour – which you should be doing anyway.  They’re waterproof dressings, so you can shower, but no baths.  I’ll come over and change the dressings in a couple of days.”  
  
“I can’t thank you enough, Dr Hobson.”  
  
“For goodness’ sake, James, I’ve seen your arse; call me Laura.”  
  
“Laura.”  Lewis bit his lip as James turned several shades of red.  
  
Laura lightly touched James’s arm.  “On a more serious note, James, I don’t want to worry you, but I strongly believe you should go back to your GP.  These dreams are obviously getting worse and it could be wise to eliminate some of the more serious causes.  From what you’ve told me, things have become worse since you started on the sleeping tablets, and it could be as simple as changing the prescription.  It’s up to you how much you’re willing to reveal to your doctor, and that comes down to trust.  Of course, you could simply march in and demand a cat scan, as long as you’re prepared for the wait.”  
  
James’s shoulders sagged.  “I see the doctor so rarely; I don’t know how much more I could comfortably tell him, beyond what I have.”  
  
In the front room, the mantle clock struck nine.  
  
“You boys are late for work.  I’d best go and let you get on your way.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Robbie responded.  “I rang in after I called you, told the desk sergeant we’d be late.”  
  
“And if Jean wants to know where you were?”  
  
“Fortunately, she’s in an all-day meeting with the higher-ups.  She won’t miss us and I won’t have to lie.”  
  
*****  
  
Laura had assured James he’d be fine to drive.  
  
“If you had a long commute, I’d say no, but fifteen minutes you should be fine.  Pop a cushion on the seat, and try not to get caught in traffic, or leap in and out of the car.  You’re not the Sweeney.  And get some ibuprofen, it’ll help.”  
  
He’d made it to work without mishap or great discomfort.  Lewis had followed a few minutes behind.  James had manoeuvred his way out of the car and was at the entrance when Lewis pulled in to the car park.  He waited for him to catch up.  
  
James placed the small holdall on his desk.  He took out the files he’d created on the three missing women and, after a quick check to make sure no-one was watching, he swiftly removed a blue cushion and set it in place on his chair.  He tucked the holdall beside the filing cabinet.  Holding firmly onto the arm rests, James lowered himself carefully into the chair.  
  
“I believe you wanted these, sir.”  He swapped two of the files for the mug of tea Lewis had brought in.  Taking a sip, he remarked, “Was there a revolution in the break room?  This is vast improvement on the usual.”  
  
“I’m fed up with the cheap teabags meself.  Brought in a small box from home.  I’ll keep them in the top drawer if you’re ever looking.”  
  
“And that is why you’re the DI and I’m the lowly sergeant.”  James mimed tipping a cap.  
  
“Drink your tea and get on with your job, there’s a good lad.”  
  
James grinned.  Knowing Laura was sympathetic to his plight had lifted his spirits more than he would have guessed.  He’d never expected her to readily accept the possibility of ghosts, believing rational science to be her religion.  Admittedly, she never actually stated she believed in ghosts but, as far as James was concerned, that was a small point.  
  
He opened the file on Helena Cooke and began his search.  
  
  
  
Lewis was able to quickly eliminate the other two women.  The first name appeared as the victim of a single-car drink-driving accident.  Lewis experienced a momentary flash of guilt over his relief that she had been the sole occupant in the car, having lost an argument with a stone bollard while not wearing a seatbelt.  The accident report listed her place of employment as Crevecoeur Hall, confirming they were one and the same person.  Lewis wondered why a simple note about her death hadn’t been appended to the records.  He pushed the file to one side.  
  
The second woman had a criminal record, with her first arrest, for soliciting, occurring the day before the Crevecoeur records listed her as having left ‘without notice’.  _Was the pay at Crevecoeur so low she needed the extra cash, or did she have expensive habits?_   Once again, the arrest records confirmed her employment at the hall.  She was currently serving a sentence for credit card fraud, so Lewis assumed she was alive and well.  
  
He told James what he’d found.  “How’s your search going?”  
  
“She’s not on any of our databases, and the usual searches have drawn a blank.  I’m just about to look into the last known address.”  
  
“Where was that again?”  
  
“Banbury.”  Lewis watched James over the rim of his cup, grimacing as he swallowed the last of the cold tea.  James’s head rose slowly as he straightened in his chair.  “Oh.  That’s interesting.”  
  
Lewis made his way across to James’s desk.  
  
“The current occupant is listed as Marcus Cooke.  His date of birth makes him eight years younger than Helena.  I doubt it’s a coincidence.  If he’s not her brother, he’s a cousin.  I don’t particularly want to drive out to Banbury today, so let’s see if we can’t find a mobile number for you, Mr Cooke.”  
  
Lewis rested against the edge of the desk while James searched.  
  
“Got you!”  
  
Gathering up their mugs, and after dipping into his desk drawer, Lewis headed for the door.  “I’ll go make us some fresh tea.”  
  
James was standing behind his desk when Lewis returned.  
  
He put a mug on James’s desk.  He thought he looked a little pale.  “You all right?”  
  
“Yeah.  No.  Bit sore.  But.  I spoke to Mr Cooke and he does have a sister called Helena, who used to work in Oxford.  He says she was reported missing in June 1983.  I didn’t tell him there was no record on the database.  Luckily for me, he’s in Oxford for work today, and will be here in a hour.  Depending what time we finish up, I’d like to get back out to Mr McCall’s and the estate records at some point this afternoon.”  
  
“Why don’t you get a car to go ‘round, pick up the boxes and we can go through them together?”  
  
James explained for the first time the true mess the records were in.  “I’d rather spend a few more hours winnowing out the remaining employee records–”  
  
“How do you know the bloke’s an employee?”  
  
James’s mouth fell open.  “Idiot, Hathaway!”  He slapped his palm against his forehead.  “I was so focussed on the woman, I forgot to pull out the tenant records as well.”  
  
“James, until now we had no real evidence the female skeleton was an employee either – we were relying on your nightmares and contents of the box.”  
  
James buried his face in his hands and growled at himself.  
  
“Let it go, James.  You got a result, which is the main thing.  There’s nothing to say he’s not an employee, but we can’t base an investigation solely on dreams.”  
  
James raised his head, keeping the lower half of his face covered.  “Would you rather I came off the case?  What if I miss something else?”  
  
“No, you stay right where you are.  We’ll manage this one.  I’m just as much at fault, if not more so.  You told me how you planned to utilise the records and I didn’t question it, and I should have; I’m the one who has to answer to Innocent.  Besides, you did good work with Julie.”  
  
James lowered his hands.  “Thank you, sir.”  
  
“You’re all right.  After we talk to Cooke, I’ll go back to McCall’s with you to help sort through the boxes.  I’ve got nothing here that can’t wait.  Though in light of recent events, I'd still like you to work through the records here, and not in the basement.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  James pressed his palms against the desk top and leant forward.  His chin dropped to his chest.  
  
“You look like you could use a lie down.”  
  
“Half an hour and I can take another dose of anti-inflammatories.  Just in time for Mr Cooke’s visit.”  
  
“Take yourself outside for a smoke.  You haven’t one today, have you?”  
  
James shook his head sadly.  “I’ve considered it a few times, but the thought of doing the walk out and back to the car park more than absolutely necessary put me off.  It’s less painful to fight the cravings.”  
  
*****  
  
Marcus Cooke arrived exactly one hour after James spoke with him.  Ignoring the raised eyebrows of the desk sergeant, Lewis met him and escorted him to the interview room where James was waiting, the cushion tucked discreetly under him.  
  
  
  
James experienced a flutter of excitement upon seeing Cooke.  The facial similarities with the woman in the photograph and his dreams were striking.   
  
Lewis carried out the introductions before handing the interview to James.  
  
“Mr Cooke, when did you last hear from Helena?  
  
“It was Christmas 1982.  We didn’t hear from her much, but she always called or visited at Christmas, and Mum and Dad’s birthdays.   
  
“Christmas 1982?  And she wasn’t reported missing?”  
  
Cooke’s eyes flicked between the officers, confusion all over his face.  “But she was.  I told you.  I thought that’s why you’d called, because you had news.”  
  
It was James’s turn to be perplexed.  “We’ve been unable to find a record of any missing person’s report for a Helena Cooke.  You’re certain this report was made?”  
  
Cooke’s breath hitched.  “When she didn’t call Mum on her birthday in June, Dad rang the place she was working.  They said she’d left in April without leaving a forwarding address.  I went with Dad when he made the report.  I saw him sign the paperwork.  Dad would go back every year to prod them.  When he died a couple of years ago, Mum asked us to let it go, to let Helena go.  She said it hurt too much to keep hoping.  Please, why am I here?”  
  
Lewis and James exchanged a glance.  
  
James picked up an evidence bag from the table.  Inside, lying face down was the photograph from the metal box.  He studied the image for a moment then passed it across the desk.  
  
“Mr Cooke, is Helena in this photograph?”  
  
Marcus held the bag by the edges between pinched fingers.  His hands began to tremble.  
  
“Mr Cooke?” James prompted.  
  
“That’s Helena,” Cooke said in a choked whisper.  He pointed to the circled woman.  “You have found her, haven’t you?”  His eyes darted anxiously between Lewis and James and his whole body visibly trembled.  “Oh, God.  She is dead, isn’t she.”  
  
James momentarily couldn’t speak.  They had a name.  But was she definitely the woman whose skeleton rested in Laura’s care?  He pushed out a deep breath.  
  
“We’ve found... remains we believe... may be your sister.”  
  
“Can I see her?” Cooke blurted out, half rising to his feet.  
  
“I’m sorry, Mr Cooke.  That won’t be possible.  Would you be willing to provide a DNA sample?  For comparison.”  
  
“DNA.  How long’s she been dead if you need DNA.”  
  
“We’re still determining that.  Would you be willing to provide a sample?”  
  
“Yes,” he managed to stutter out.  
  
*****  
  
James waited for Lewis to return to the office.  He’d contacted Laura to give her Helena Cooke’s details to enable a check of dental records to be made.  Julie had run Marcus Cooke’s DNA sample to Forensics, and Lewis was seeing him safely out of the building.  James tried to imagine what Cooke must have been feeling, discovering his sister had been dead after all these years.  He couldn’t understand why neither he nor Lewis had been able to uncover the missing person’s report.  He searched the database again, this time using her name and birth date, and still had no success.  Out of curiosity he ran a search for reports filed in June 1983.  A result of zero records raised some questions.  It was highly unlikely there would be a month where no-one went missing.  Further investigation was required, and James sent an email to the officer who’d headed the digitisation project.  
  
“Right, James.”  Lewis appeared in the doorway.  “Time to go to McCall’s.”   
  
“Lewis...  Oh, are you going somewhere?”  Innocent stepped into the office, casting her gaze over him.  
  
“We’re off to sort through a load of documents from Crevecoeur to see if we can’t put a name the male skeleton.  It appears we may have identified our Jane Doe as a result of James’s initial search.”  
  
“Ah.  Right.  Very good.”  She looked pointedly at James.  “Surely James can handle the sorting by himself?  He is the research wiz.”  
  
“Many hands make light work, ma’am.”  
  
“Sorry, Lewis, I need you here.”  She smiled ruefully.  “The Assistant Chief Constable’s fired an email at me regarding the overtime figures for last month.  I want to be sure I’m not going create unnecessary waves, and since you wrote the report...”  
  
James watched with some disquiet.  He’d been looking forward to Lewis’s help, particularly with negotiating the stairs safely and moving the boxes.  The anti-inflammatories were controlling the worst of the aches, however, James was dreading how he was going to feel by the time he got home.  He could, of course, leave it until tomorrow when Lewis could come out with him, but he wanted it out of the way.  And it wasn’t as though there was a lot he could be getting on with.  It would be a least two days before they had a result on the DNA, though it was possible the dental results may arrive earlier.   
  
Lewis’s shoulders dropped just a fraction, enough for James to know he was on his own.   
  
“Yes, ma’am.  I just need a few minutes to sort a couple of things here first.”  Lewis approached James’s desk as Innocent left.  
  
“Sorry, lad.  Last time the ACC had questions about overtime it took half a day to sort out.  Take someone with you.  I don’t want you carting boxes up stairs, not today at least.  Laura’d string me up if I let you push yourself too hard.”  
  
“I’ll call someone out once I’m done.  They can bring the boxes back here and I’ll head home.  Otherwise, they’re only going to be waiting around for the most of the afternoon, and Innocent would string _me_ up for that.”  
  
“Listen, James, I never thought to ask before: will McCall be okay with you taking the records?”  
  
“Oh, yeah.  All he’s asked is I leave or email a detailed list and return everything in due course.  Working from his basement was the easier option given the volume of material, especially when I realised it wouldn’t simply be a matter of selecting the right boxes and walking out.”  
  
“Look, James, if a miracle occurs, and I can get out after an hour or so, I’ll come out to McCall’s.”  
  
“I’ll be fine.  I’ll stick to looking for the employee records – I’ve only another five years to find – then, if there’s nothing, we can go back and dig out the tenant records.  I’ll head straight home afterwards.”  
  
*****  
  
James held tightly to the banister as he carefully made his way to the basement.  Driving was a breeze compared to stairs, but he managed.  He was not looking forward to seeing how bruised he was.  Taking another of the spare boxes provided by McCall, James packed the employee records he’d previously separated, before starting on the remaining boxes.  
  
He was on the second box when he has a strong sense there was someone else in the basement with him.  He listened carefully.  He couldn’t hear anything, but the hair on the back of his neck rose, and his scalp began to prickle.  He stood up with a small shiver and began to pivot slowly, scanning the shelves behind him.  The room was well lit and it would have been difficult for anyone, except perhaps a child, to completely conceal themselves.  Satisfied he was alone, and cursing his imagination, James released his breath.  His sigh became a yelp as one of the remaining boxes thumped to the floor behind him.  James spun towards the desk, knocking over the chair which clattered to the floor.  Already startled, James cried out loudly as second box fell onto the first, and spilled its contents.  The first box remained intact.  
  
James stared at scattered papers, files and envelopes.  Out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of movement on the stairs.  Gathering his wits, he moved as quickly as his body would allow him to the base of the stairs.  There was nothing too be seen, though dust motes weaved and danced, much as the smoke at Crevecoeur had.  _All basements have draughts_ , he reassured himself.  James closed his eyes and slowly pushed out a deep breath.  He thought he smelled lilac again, and dismissed it as an overactive imagination.    
  
A lorry – or it could have been a bus, one of the older ones – rumbled past, the thrum of the engine echoing down the stairs.  Despite the weight on them, some of the shelving near him vibrated slightly.  He checked the boxes behind him.  They were still, but it didn’t mean they hadn’t moved, only that he’d missed it.  The house was on a main thoroughfare.  Since yesterday, who knew how many heavy vehicles had driven past the house, sending vibrations through the basement’s floor and walls?  Perhaps the accumulated movement had unbalanced some of the boxes and he simply hadn’t noticed.  Why they’d fallen at that particular moment, James couldn’t say, but he was certain a reason would be found if he had the time to examine all the variables.  Despite all he’d experienced so far, he refused to automatically put anything out of the ordinary down to a ghost or other supernatural force, seeking out a logical explanation first.  He wasn’t going to start jumping at shadows if he could help it.  
  
James started to crouch down, until the pull on his arse and thighs became too much.  He couldn’t bend from the waist, either.  Using the desk for support, James cautiously lowered himself onto his knees and started to repack the box, looking for anything relevant as he did so.   
  
“Shit!” He hadn’t noticed the large envelope he’d picked up had split down one side.  The contents spilled out onto the floor.  They looked like blank pages.  James shuffled forwards and tried not to think about the marks the concrete floor would leave on his trousers.  Stretching forward, he picked up the top paper.  Turning it over, he was astonished to see a portrait of Scarlett as a child.  James guessed she was around five or six.  He huffed a small laugh.  He remembered she’d hated the plaits her mother insisted she wore, though, from the bright smile preserved in the image, no-one would have guessed.  With a growing sadness, James understood she’d always put the family name and appearance first, even back then.  He shivered as an unexpected draught swept down the stairs and around him.  It was strong enough to flutter and fan the other papers on the floor, and bring James’s attention back to the task at hand.  Gathering them together, James flipped the bundle of papers.  Not surprisingly, they were all photographs.  He shuffled through them.  They were all either group shots or individual portraits of the Mortmaigne family, and well over twenty years old as the first Lady Mortmaigne, Jacinta, featured prominently.  He recalled the second Lady Mortmaigne, Selina, wanting him to confirm whether or not she did look like her predecessor.  He hadn’t lied when he told her he couldn’t recall.  However, looking at these photographs, James found he could name every member in the immediate and extended family – not that the Mortmaignes had had many cousins.  He was disturbed to note the resemblance between Selina and Jacinta was uncanny.  
  
James looked curiously at the two family portraits in his hands.  He bundled the photographs together again and placed them on top of the small tower of boxes.  Moving with great care, he used the chair and desk to get to his feet.  He released a small moan and patted his pockets, swearing when he couldn’t find the anti-inflammatories.  
  
“Must have left the bloody things on my desk,” he muttered miserably.  
  
Steadying himself with a deep breath, James divided the images into two piles, one containing the individual portraits, the other the family shots.  Setting aside the portraits, he spread the others out on the desk.  He compared the images, reorganising them into two distinct groups: those where he could name or place everyone, and those with an extra, unknown to James, man.  He always stood next to Augustus, he was slightly taller and, James thought, younger.  The similarity was striking; apart from their dress – Augustus always wore a tie – they could have been twins.  James frowned, puzzled.  He knew about Augustus’s two older sisters, both ineligible to inherit and married off to baronets, but there had never been talk of a brother.  The back of the image was blank, giving him no further clues, not even a date.   
  
He quickly shuffled through the portraits.  The backs of first two of the other man were blank.  The third yielded a name: Tiberius.  James snorted.  _No Johns or Henrys here._   He looked at the items still scattered on the floor.  Poking out of the box, which, lay on its side, was an album.  James had to get on his knees again to retrieve it.  
  
Once he had it on the desk, James flipped slowly through the pages.  It was more a scrapbook than a photo album, composed mainly of clipped newspaper and magazine articles.  There was the occasional photograph, but without captions they meant little to James.  He added the album to the box of employee records.  James wondered what this Tiberius could have done to have been effectively banished from Crevecoeur.  It was a name James had never heard mentioned, not even on those evenings when, having grown older, taller and just a little bit rebellious, he would hide under one of the draped tables in the library, reading one of the rare books from the family’s collection, while Julius, and then Augustus, had conducted business meetings.  Even then, the lure of learning had outweighed the risk of punishment if caught.  James pulled out his phone and opened the web browser.  A search for Tiberius Mortmaigne yielded no results.  James tried several misspellings of ‘Mortmaigne’, but the results were the same.  
  
“‘Curiouser and curiouser’, cried Alice,” James quoted under his breath.  
  
He returned to the group shots containing Tiberius and tried to put them in some sort of order by guessing at Scarlett’s age.  Tiberius didn’t appear after what James guessed to be 1983 or 1984.  Could Tiberius be the man in his dream?  Did the family hide him away?  Is it possible he was man buried beside Helena?  Murderer and victim side by side, a blot on the family name thought to be hidden away forever?  
  
James’s head and body ached.  He added the photos to the box and commenced a hurried search through the remaining boxes for the missing employee records.  He briefly considered calling Titus to find out what, if anything, he knew about his uncle, but given Tiberius seemed to have disappeared from the family history nearly ten years before Titus was born, he swiftly concluded it would most likely be a lost cause.  .  
  
James called the station and arranged for a car to collect the two boxes, then he restacked the boxes neatly and climbed the stairs to wait.  He slumped against the front door frame and sent the email to Robert McCall while he waited.  He checked the road frequently, willing the car to arrive.  
  
He suddenly wondered if he had any sort of painkiller in the car – even paracetamol would be better than nothing – and made his way down the path.  As he reached the gate, the requested car pulled up.  It had only been ten minutes, but it might as well have been ten hours, as far as James was concerned.  
  
“In there, first door on the right, down to the basement.  The two boxes are on the desk.”  He directed the young constable while making his way slowly down the path.  “You’ll have to make two trips I’m afraid.  I seem to have... pulled something.”  
  
The constable nodded and stepped briskly past him.  
  
On reaching his car, James moaned softly with relief when he saw the familiar packet of paracetamol sticking out of the cup holder in the centre console.  Opening the door, he leant forward, reaching in to retrieve the tablets.  Behind him he heard steps coming down the path.  _That was bloody quick._  
  
“You didn’t waste any–”  James straightened and turned to face an empty front yard.  The constable appeared in the doorway with one of the boxes.  The young man’s beetroot face confirmed James had over-packed the boxes.  James frowned and automatically popped two tablets out of the packaging.  He turned back to the car and swore softly.  He’d left his water bottle downstairs.  Knowing he’d already be whispered about for not helping with the boxes, James wasn’t about to compound matters by asking the constable to bring up the bottle as well.  James locked the car and headed back to the basement.  
  
He reached the bottom of the stairs seconds before the constable galloped his way down.  James swallowed down the tablets and stepped back to let him take the box.  He followed him up, switching off the lights as he went.  With the front door open there was ample light to see the steps.  
  
“Bloody hell, it’s cold in here, sir,” the constable called down as he approached the top of the stairs.  “Don’t know how you could work down there for too long.”  
  
James shrugged.  “It’s not that bad, really.”  
  
He continued to pull himself up the stairs.  The constable slipped through the door and James stared in disbelief as the door slowly swung half shut.  
  
 _Must be a draught_ , James reasoned.   
  
Without warning, the door slammed, plunging James into near darkness, the only light coming from the gap under the door.  
  
“Oh, great,” James muttered, continuing his climb cautiously, one hand on the banister, the other holding the bottle.  
  
When he reached the door, James grabbed the handle and turned.  The door didn’t budge.  James felt about for the light switch.  When he flicked it, the bulb flashed and blew.  James leant against the door and blinked for a few seconds until the spots cleared.  He pulled out his phone and used the screen light to look at the lock.  When the door banged shut, the latch had dropped, locking the door.  James unlocked it and turned the handle.  The door still didn’t move.  
  
“You sodding thing,” James growled through clenched teeth.  He banged on the door with the flat of his hand and bellowed, “Constable!”  
  
The stairs below him creaked.  James pointed his phone down.  The stairs were empty.  The dust flew and danced in the light, not unsurprising given the force with which the door had closed.  To be certain, he opened the camera and took a flash photograph.  There was nothing there.  He slipped the phone back into his trouser pocket.  
  
“Constable!”  James tried the handle again without success.  He hammered on the door again and swore.  He was too tired and too sore to put up with much more.  
  
“Constable!”  
  
Something brushed across James’s cheek and lips and he jerked backwards with a yelp.  The bottle bounced and thumped down to the bottom.  Overbalancing, he fell and slammed his arse against the wall, causing him to cry out, all thoughts of spiders momentarily fleeing – until he felt the tickling at the back of his neck.  
  
“Constable!”  James was on the edge of panic.  He lurched towards the door and started hammering again.  
  
“Sir?”  James slumped against the door in relief.  
  
“The handle seems to be broken on this side, constable.”  James winced at the tremor in his voice.  He clenched his fists tightly in an attempt to control the trembling.  “Could you see if you can open it from your side, please?”  
  
James stepped back.  With a soft click, the door opened effortlessly.  
  
“Thank you.”  James tried the handle on the basement side of door once again.  It turned easily, the lock sliding back smoothly into the assembly.  James didn’t know what to think.  
  
He stood on the front step, leaning against the door with his phone in his hand, and waited for his legs to stop shaking.  He waved to the constable as he left to take the boxes to the station.  
  
He opened the camera roll, fully intending to delete the photo of the basement stairs.  He tapped on the thumbnail image.  His mouth went dry and a chill settled in his stomach.  The clear outline of a person stood at the bottom of the stairs.  
  
*****  
   
James told Lewis about the photographs and the timing of Tiberius’s possible disappearance.  He didn’t mention the door or the image.  
  
“This Tiberius – what’s with all the bloody Roman names in that family, anyway?”  James shrugged.  Lewis huffed and continued.  “If he did vanish around the same time as Helena Cooke, it’s unlikely he’s the other skeleton.  Remember the report reckons ten or so years between the two being buried.  Though it’d definitely be worth finding out what did happen to him.  Perhaps he’s the murderer, and that’s why he disappeared.  I’d like to see justice done for Helena’s family.  Marcus Cooke was shattered when he left.”  
  
James had to agree.  
  
Lewis made the cocoa, and James placed three sleeping tablets beside the cup.  Lewis sat beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“I want you in my bed tonight.”  James raised his eyebrows suggestively.  “Oh, not like that, ya sod.”  Lewis blushed.  
  
“Sorry.  It was too good to resist.”  Relaxing over dinner with Lewis, and dosed up on painkillers, James had mostly recovered from his unsettling afternoon.  He grinned at Lewis’s exasperated humpf.  
  
“You done?  I don’t think you should sleep in the other room on your own.  Better?”  James nodded, biting his bottom lip.  “I don’t know if it’ll make a difference, but it can’t make things any worse, can it?”  
  
James hesitated.  If he had another nightmare as violent as last night’s, he was afraid of injuring Lewis.  _Lewis would have thought of that too._ He thought back to his second night in the house.  When he’d gone into Lewis’s bed, instead of feeling awkward, he’d managed to fall asleep easily after the nightmare.  What if having someone close by made a difference?  He hoped Robbie was right and it wouldn’t be any worse.  He nodded decisively, and Lewis’s smile gave him hope.

 


	12. Thursday

James knew he had had a relatively calm night, though whether it was due to the heavy sedative or Lewis’s presence he couldn’t have said.  He couldn’t recall any images, and he wasn’t tangled in bedclothes.  However, his head felt thick.  No matter what might happen, he decided, he was going back to two tablets tonight; this was not how he wanted to feel in the morning.  He gradually opened his eyes, with the sense something was out of place.  Lying on his side, facing Lewis’s back, he took a moment to take stock.  It was the same feeling he’d had in the basement when he thought someone was watching him.  Without moving his body, he looked around as much of the bedroom as he could see.  Nothing was out of place.  
  
Rolling carefully, James shifted onto his belly and leant on his elbows.  He held his breath as he listened for anything out of the ordinary.  All was still.  A flickering by the doorway caught his eye.  
  
“Monty, you bugger,” James whispered, as the cat leapt lightly onto the chest of drawers and stared at him from across the room.  James felt the mattress dip beside him.  
  
“How’re you feeling this morning, lad?”  
  
James dropped his chin to his chest and looked sideways at Lewis.  
  
“Hung-over and borderline human.”  The small frown wasn’t unexpected.  
  
“Any dreams?”  
  
“Nothing I can remember.”  He drew his brows together.  “Did something happen?”  
  
Lewis rubbed the back of his neck, and anxiety slowly curled in James’s stomach.  “You did start tossin' and turnin' a bit around midnight.  I thought about trying to wake you, but as soon as I put a hand on your shoulder, you settled.  You really don’t remember anything?”  
  
James’s body relaxed and he released a slow, thankful breath.  “To be honest, I don’t even remember going to bed.”  
  
Lewis’s look was grim.  “There’s got to be a better way, James.”  
  
James hunched his shoulders in a ‘such as’ gesture, and then pushed himself up onto his knees.  He lowered one foot to the floor, and awkwardly climbed out of bed.  “Is it okay if I use the shower first?  I’ll make bacon and eggs,” he offered with a hopeful smile.  
  
Lewis’s expression softened.  “You go have your shower and _I’ll_ get breakfast.  Until you’ve healed up a bit more, the less you do the better.”  
  
*****  
  
Even after coffee and breakfast, James was still a little unsteady on his feet.  
  
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay home today?”  Lewis caught James’s plate and mug before it fell out of his hand and into the sink.  “Or come in later – once you’re feeling more yourself?.  I can cover for you.”   
  
“I’ll be fine as soon as I start moving around a bit more and the sedative wears off.  An hour, perhaps two.  And, at the risk of sounding like a coward, I’d rather not be left by myself.”  
  
Lewis couldn’t argue with that, acknowledging to himself, if James were to stay home, he’d more than likely spend a large chunk of the day wondering if everything was okay.  
  
  
  
As a precaution, Lewis wouldn’t let James drive, which gave him fifteen precious minutes of dozing in the car.  He nearly tripped over his own feet on the stairs, and only Lewis quickly grabbing his elbow saved James from an unwanted encounter with the very solid wood and glass doors.  James had déjà vu.  
  
Lewis held his elbow until James was steady.  “Come on, twinkle-toes, let’s get you inside before you hurt yourself or break something.”  
  
“Point me at my padded chair and I’ll be fine.”  
  
The boxes were waiting on James’s desk.  James worked backwards from 2000, while Lewis worked forward from 1985.  They worked in silence.  
  
“D’you want a cuppa?”  
  
James took a second to register Lewis was talking to him.  
  
“Um, yeah, please.”  
  
James was distracted, his mind turning the past few days over.  His gut told him Tiberius was their John Doe, even if it couldn’t explain the ten year discrepancy in the burial dates.  There was a fairly quick way to find out though.  
  
“How's the head now?”  Lewis placed the mug in James’s outstretched hand.  
  
“Clearer.  Thanks."  He sipped carefully.  "I was thinking–”  
  
"That's a good sign."  
  
"Funny."  
  
"Go on; you were thinking what?"  Lewis rested against the edge of James's desk.  
  
"Augustus Mortmaigne’s DNA is on file, and Laura’s submitted John Doe’s DNA test.”  
  
“You want them compared?”  
  
“It’s not as though it would be a huge additional expense, and it would eliminate or confirm Tiberius.”  He held Lewis’s steady gaze.  
  
“You’d better ring Laura.”  Lewis squeezed his shoulder.  “If you’re right about this, it’ll save a lot of time and effort.”  
  
“And if I’m wrong?”  
  
Lewis pointed at the file on the desk.  “Then maybe you’ll concentrate a bit harder on the task at hand,” he replied, firmly but kind.  “Back to it.”  
  
*****  
  
“Oi, James.  What’s this doing in here?”  
  
James peered across at the photograph Lewis was holding.  “What is it?”  
  
Lewis studied the image as he crossed the office floor.  “You said you lived at Crevecoeur ‘til you were twelve?”  
  
“Yes.”  James was on guard.  
  
“Then when was this taken?”  James watched his hand reach out to take the image.  
  
“Oh, are you two exchanging photos now?  That’s sweet.  Are you sure there’s nothing going on you want to tell me about?”  Laura breezed into the office and perched on the edge of James’s desk.  Her grin softened as she appraised James.  “How’s the bruising today?”  
  
“Ugly.”  
  
“You can use arnica cream on it, but avoid the broken skin.  Otherwise, you’re coping?”  
  
“Yeah.”  James returned her smile and looked at the photo.  His felt ill.  “Where did this come from?”  
  
Lewis sat on James’s desk, facing Laura.  “It was in the bottom of the box.  I’m guessing it fell out of one of the files.  What is it?”  
  
“It looks like it was taken at a staff Christmas party.”  He squinted.  “I think I was eight or nine in this one.”  
  
“You’re a lot older than that.”  Robbie beckoned for the photo.  “Laura, take a look.  How old do you think he is there?”  
  
James bit his lip as Laura’s amused expression became a scowl.  “This could have been taken last week, except for the clothes, and the fact you look older.  Is that make-up?”  
  
James slumped down in his chair and crossed his arms defensively over his chest.  “ **I** ,” he emphasised, “am on the far left – the skinny, blonde kid.  The person I believe you’re looking at, is my father.”  
  
If he wasn’t so unsettled, James would have laughed at the matching expressions on Lewis and Laura’s faces.  
  
“Bloody hell!”  Robbie managed an awed whisper.  “You’re his double.”  
  
“In features only, thank God.”  James didn’t want this discussion to go any further.  “Dr Hobson, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?  You haven’t compared the DNA already, have you?”  
  
“No.”  Laura was all business.  “There’re some delays at the lab.  What I do have is a match on dental records.  Jane Doe _is_ Helena Cooke.  I hope you find whoever treated her so cruelly.”  She passed the photo back to James.  “The resemblance is quite extraordinary,” she commented quietly as she left.  
  
“James–”  
  
“I’d rather not talk about the photograph, or my father, if that’s okay with you.”  James stared at the opposite wall.  After his experience in McCall’s basement, he was rather proud of the fact he was able to keep his voice quiet and steady.  
  
“Understood.”  Lewis’s gentleness soothed James.  He picked up the photograph.  “I’ll pop this back in box, and then I’ll give Marcus Cooke a call.  Tell the poor sod the family can organise a funeral.”  
  
“At least they’ll get to say goodbye; some families never get an answer.  Would you like me to open the murder enquiry?”  
  
“I’ll see to that as well, but I need a decent coffee first.  Large one for you?”  
  
“Please.”  
  
*****  
  
James’s desk phone rang as they were packing up to leave.   
  
Lewis dropped into his chair with a soft grunt.  
  
“Hathaway.”  
  
“Yes.  I’m James Edward Hathaway, formerly of Crevecoeur, Oxfordshire.”  James stared bewilderedly across the office at Lewis, whose face was asking questions James couldn’t answer.  Lewis tried to make sense of what he could hear.  James’s rapidly darkening expression made him wary.  
  
“That’s impossible.  Are you sure you have the right person?”  
  
“There’s no doubt?”  
  
There was a long pause.  
  
“No, I’m afraid that’s completely out of the question.”  James’s distaste for whatever he’d been asked was undeniable.  
  
“I suppose you’d better.”  
  
James slowly lowered his head onto the edge of the desk as he listened, lifting his face to reply.  “No, that’s an old address.”  James looked troubled.  “If it has to be signed for, you’d best send it to my work address.”  
  
“Yes, that’s it.”  James frowned deepened.  “It’s quite secure, I can assure you.”  
  
James ended the call without a ‘thank you’ or ‘goodbye’ of any description, which was out of character.  
  
“James? You look like you've...”   Lewis pressed his lips together as his words faded.  
  
“Seen a ghost?” James finished.  “Feels like it.”  
  
He stood, put his jacket on, and hovered by the side of his desk, gnawing on his thumbnail.  Lewis tried to read his expression.  Confused and uncertain seemed to cover it.  James jerked his hand away from his mouth, tucking his thumb inside his fist, which he held at his side.  
  
Lewis rose to his feet.  “Home?”   
  
He followed James out to the car.  
  
  
  
The drive was unusually tense.  Lewis tried to start a conversation, but had no idea what to say.  James stared out the side window, lost in his thoughts.  On entering the house he went straight in to the kitchen.  He discarded his jacket and tie on a kitchen chair.  Lewis was surprised when James poured two glasses of wine, handing one to Lewis before going through to the front room.  James hadn’t touched any alcohol since his visit to the doctor.  Lewis followed, leaving his jacket and tie on one of the armchairs.  He joined James on the couch.  
  
Lewis was unsure how to proceed, so he waited.  James stared at the glass in his hand.  
  
“The call was a solicitor from Calgary.”  
  
“Canada?”  
  
“Yes.  They’re administering my father’s estate.  He died a week ago.”  
  
Whatever Lewis was expecting, this wasn’t it.  
  
“Oh, lad, I... don’t know what to say.  Are you…”  
  
“Am I okay?  Yeah.  The funeral was Tuesday.  They asked if I’d consider flying out to collect his belongings.  I told them it was...”  
  
“...out of the question?”  
  
“Yeah.”  James sighed heavily.  “They going to courier over various papers I need to sign – it seems he amassed a tidy sum and left it all to me – and there are some items he specifically wanted me to have.”  
  
“Oh.”  None of the usual platitudes seemed appropriate.  James had never mentioned his father beyond one reference to his job at Crevecoeur, and had they not gone there to investigate Simon Black’s death, Lewis may never have learned that much.  James didn’t appear to notice his lack of response.  
  
“It’s not his death that’s shocked me – it’s the fact he was still alive until last week.  I thought he'd died years ago.”  
  
There was a long silence.  James raised the glass to his lips, stopped, and placed it on the coffee table, untouched.  Lewis made a decision.  
  
“I'm going to make us some tea.  You sit tight.”  He gathered up the glasses.  It was probably best neither of them drank on an empty stomach, especially not James.  
  
James nodded absently.  
  
Lewis’s hand drifted over the tea bags and settled on the leaf tea.  He groped in the back of the cupboard and found the teapot.  James wandered into the kitchen as he poured the water over the tea, adding some water to each mug to heat them up.  
  
“I think I'm ready to tell you,” James announced quietly.  
  
“Tell me what?”  
  
“About Crevecoeur – some of it at least.  I know you've had questions, especially after Paul and Briony, and I want to thank you for respecting my privacy.”  
  
Lewis fumbled with the teapot lid.  “You said ‘think’. If you’re going to tell me anything, I need to know you _know_ you're ready.”  
  
“I am.  I’ve been thinking about this for some time, and this feels like the right time.”  James leant on the worktop.  “I want you to know.”  
  
Lewis was deeply touched by James’s trust.  He looked into James’s eyes and saw a man at peace with his decision.  
  
“All right, since you’re so sure,” he replied kindly.  “It’ll be more comfortable back in the front room.”  Lewis picked up the tea tray and carried it through.  
  
James sipped his tea and settled back in the corner of the couch while Lewis claimed the middle cushion as usual.  There was barely an inch separating their legs.  
  
“The first thing you need to know is Mortmaigne never touched me.  I knew something was happening with Paul, but he wouldn’t say anything, just withdrew into himself towards the end.  I didn’t dare ask any of the adults.  I think I figured it out after I went away to school, but managed to... block it out, I suppose.  And then Simon Black was murdered.”  
  
James took a digestive biscuit off the plate balanced across his and Lewis’s knees and dunked it.  He finished the biscuit before continuing, putting his half-full mug on the table.  Lewis put the plate beside it.  
  
“My mother died when I was three.  I was told she was exercising one of the horses when it was spooked and it threw her into the lake.  She struck her head and drowned before anyone could get to her.”  
  
Lewis instinctively reached across and covered James’s hand.  He was momentarily surprised when James turned his palm up and briefly held on.  
  
James took a slow breath.  “My father and I…  let’s just say I wasn’t the son he wanted.  I’d rather read a book than ride a horse, though I did my share around the stables.  I liked the horses.  They didn’t judge me.  I went away to school when I was twelve.  I’d worked damn hard and won a scholarship which covered tuition, though I had no idea how the rest was going to be covered.  I mean, it wasn’t Harrow or Eton, but there were boarding fees, uniforms, books, field trips, and all the other ‘minor’ expenses which soon added up.  I was stunned when he told me my mother had left money in trust for my education – it came from her father – and the sooner I left the estate, the better.  I can still remember how light I felt when I boarded the train, and I swore I’d never return to Crevecoeur.  When I was fourteen, I was called to the headmaster’s office to be told my father had advised them he was going away for a while, but not to worry about anything as the trust would continue to pay all my fees, and my allowance.  I was accepted to Cambridge with a scholarship, and I supported myself by tutoring.  You know the rest after Cambridge.”  
  
 _The rest?_ Lewis had no idea why James was asked to leave the seminary, nor was he sure he wanted to know, and James had never reasonably explained why he chose to join the police.  But at the end of the day, Lewis didn’t care.  James was here now, and that was what mattered.  He looked to where his hand lay in James’s.  A part of his subconscious told him it should feel odd, but it didn’t.  He simply nodded in acknowledgement to James’s last statement.  
  
Lewis pondered James’s story.  “When did you last speak to your father?” he asked warily.  
  
“The day I left for school, though we exchanged one letter the first Christmas.”  
  
“Didn’t you ever wonder where he’d gone?”  
  
“Not really.  You’ve seen the scars.  Would you have wanted to track him down?  It wouldn’t exactly have been a happy family reunion at any age.  I was free of him, and I had no desire to change that.”   
  
Lewis was grateful that while he and Mark had their differences, they were still in contact.  
  
“No, I don’t suppose I would.  You said you thought he was dead.  Why was that?”  
  
James looked thoughtful.  “In many ways, he couldn’t have cared less about me, but he visited my mother’s grave and left flowers on the first Sunday of every month, like clockwork.  When I first returned to Oxford it was one of the first places I went to.  The priest told me it was a relief to see someone finally at her grave.  He said it had been bare, and he presumed unvisited, the entire time he’d been there, and he arrived early 1995.  That was when I first thought he could be dead.  When the forensic anthropologist’s report came in, I did wonder if the skeleton could be his.  He disappeared around the right time, and would have been within the age range.  I was thinking of having my DNA checked against John Doe’s when it came in.  Guess there’s no need for that now.”  
  
A thought struck Lewis.  “I wasn’t deliberately eavesdropping, but from what I heard, it sounded as though the solicitors already had the station’s address, which implies they knew where you worked.”  
  
“They did – street and postal.”  
  
“But if you’ve had no contact with your dad since you were twelve, how did they know?”  
  
James looked at Lewis worriedly.  “They also had the address of my previous flat.  I don’t know how they would have obtained it, but it’s a rather unpleasant thought to think my father may have been keeping tabs on me all these years.”  
  
“It’s all in the past now, James.  Whatever happens from here on in, you now know for certain he’s gone.  It won’t change the past.  It may change the future – that’s entirely up to you, as it’s always has been.  But the last thing you need to do right now is dwell on it.”  
  
James looked at him as if to say, _you must be joking_.  
  
Lewis curled his fingers around James’s hand.  “Yeah, I know; telling you that’s like telling the sun not to rise, but you have to try James.  You don’t need any more on your plate right now.”  
  
He watched patiently as James mulled over his words.  
  
James huffed.  “You’re right.  I can’t change what they do or don’t know, and I can’t do anything about the rest of it until their package arrives.”  
  
“I’m here if you need to get anything off your chest.  You don’t have to do any of this alone.”  
  
James held Lewis’s hand between his.  “Thanks.”  James’s stomach growled loudly.  
  
“Come into the kitchen, James, and let’s see if we can’t pull together some sort of a meal.”  Lewis stood, tugging James to his feet.  
  
After assembling and demolishing something vaguely resembling a Ploughman’s lunch, with James arguing they should be drinking ale, and Lewis declaring he wasn’t wasting perfectly good wine, James sank in to the couch with small groan.  
  
“What’s the matter?”  Lewis dropped into the seat beside him.  
  
“I’m not supposed to drink with the sleeping tablets.”  
  
“You’ve only had the one glass.  What if you only take one tablet?  Be better than nothing, and you’re welcome stay with me again if you want.”  Lewis had found it surprisingly easy to readjust to having someone else in the bed again, and James was taking it in his stride as well.  Lewis could only begin to imagine some of the comments from Laura if she were to find out.  
  
James agreed.  
  
*****  
  
James tried not to toss and turn.  The single tablet had made him drowsy, but even though the anti-inflammatories dulled the worst of his aches, he was having trouble dropping off.  Lewis had fallen asleep perhaps half an hour earlier, though James knew his perception of time was affected and it could have been minutes or hours.  He envied Lewis’s ability to sleep.  It wasn’t something James had ever had a real problem with before the whole flat business.  He’d believed his body had adjusted to disrupted patterns, learning to fall asleep whenever he needed to.  He knew better now.  
  
He was conscious of every sound, from the ticking of Lewis’s watch on the bedside table, to the soft thumps as Monty roamed the house.  He concentrated on the sound of Lewis’s breathing and made himself breathe in time.  His eyes were growing heavy when the chill began to settle.   
  
At first it was only his feet.  He bent his knees, bringing his feet up to where his legs had lain and warmed the sheet and mattress beneath.  The chill began to climb, and James knew this wasn’t the night air getting in.  He placed a hand against Lewis’s back, drawing comfort from the warmth.  As he did so, the chill stopped its ascent.  James closed his eyes and swallowed against the tightness in his throat.  Raising his head slightly off the pillow, and maintaining his contact with Lewis’s back, James opened one eye and surveyed the room.  A figure stood motionless at the foot of the bed.  Although he couldn’t discern any features he knew it was Helena and she was staring at him.   
  
“Please.”  He whispered his plea.  “I’m trying to find out who did this to you.”  
  
James wasn’t sure what he’d expected.  The figure didn’t move, and he knew it wasn’t a figment of his imagination.  He inched towards Lewis and pushed the tips of his fingers on one hand under Lewis’s side for reassurance.  Lewis didn’t stir.  The chill lay heavy on his legs.  James closed his eyes and prayed for it to stop.

 


	13. Friday, Saturday, Sunday

FRIDAY  
  
James woke slowly when the alarm went off.  He was aware of the noise, the movement of the bed as Lewis got up, and the sound of the curtains being drawn back.  He turned his face to the pillow against the brightening morning.  Lewis’s shuffling footstep moved away from the bed and the quiet resettled.  James laboured to sit up as the covers weighed down heavily upon him.  He threw them back with some effort, surprised at how heavy one lightweight blanket and one sheet could be.  Sitting on the edge of the bed he discovered two extra blankets had been added at some point during the night.  It was a relief to know it wasn’t his weariness which had caused him to struggle, nor had he been alone in feeling the chill.  
  
He heard the toilet flush and the shower start.  There was little point in getting up until the shower was free so James lay down again on his side and let his gaze drift out the window.  He didn't move until he heard the water stop.  Standing carefully, he made sure he had his balance before stripping off his t-shirt and examining himself in the wardrobe mirror.  The bruising down his left flank was extensive and reminded him of a poorly executed tie-dye in yellow, green, purple and black.  He was relieved to see the dressings Laura had applied show no sign of any renewed bleeding, and even more thankful to note the absence of any new injuries.  
  
He glanced at the foot of the bed and recalled the figure he’d witnessed.  In the cold light of day he tried to tell himself it was his overworked imagination, and failed.  She had been there but, more significantly, she’d left him in peace.  Whether it was because of his entreaty, his prayer, or because he wasn’t alone, James didn’t know, and he was beyond trying to second guess.  Feeling eyes on him, James looked into the mirror again and saw Monty sitting by the door staring up at his reflection.  Behind him, Lewis came out of the bathroom.  He was dressed in trousers and a shirt, which hung loose and unbuttoned, and was drying his hair vigorously.  
  
Robbie stepped around Monty as he entered the room and looked up, meeting James’s eyes in the mirror.  James watched Lewis’s eyes drift downwards over his injuries, pressing his lips together as Lewis winced.  
  
“Thank God there’s nothing new.”  Lewis stepped up behind James’s shoulder.  “How did you sleep in the end?”  
  
“I must have dropped into a deep sleep.  I’ve no memory of you putting the extra blankets on.”  In the time it took James to turn towards Lewis, Lewis’s expression had switched from concerned to alarmed.  “What’s wrong?”  
  
“You put the blankets on, James.  You mumbled about the room being Arctic and went and fetched them around midnight.  I asked you what you were talking about but you didn't...  You really don't remember?”  
  
The room seemed to shift around James.  His mouth gaped, and he gave the tiniest shake of the head.  
  
“What _do_ you remember?”  
  
“There was… it started to get cold.  First it was just my feet then it spread upwards.”  James hesitated, weighing his words.  “I felt as though I was being watched, and I… it was childish but I moved closer to be in contact with you.”  James held his head high.  
  
“Nothing else?  You’re absolutely sure?  No dreams?”  
  
“No... dreams, no.”  James was in two minds about mentioning the figure.  
  
With a hand against his shoulder, Lewis steered James to the side of the bed and they both sat down.  
  
“James, you put the blankets on the bed – with great precision.  You made sure they were even, and tucked them in at the foot.  _Then_ you got back into bed and shoved your hand under my side.  You were like ice; I jumped a good few inches and you apologised.”  
  
“I only remember putting my fingers under you, and you didn’t move.”  James concentrated on breathing calmly.  He was disturbed by not remembering what he’d done; however, it did raise the possibility the figure he saw was pure imagination.  Lewis had no reason to deceive him, so James believed his version of events.  He pulled away, slightly annoyed, when Lewis felt his forehead, and resigned himself to the inevitable.  “I'll call my doctor today.  See what he can offer.”  
  
“Remind him you’re a serving police officer.  It’s not a magic ticket but it works sometimes.”  
  
*****  
  
Lewis repacked the last file from his box.  Shoving it to one side, he went to fetch the box off James’s desk.  A light tap on the door distracted him.  
  
“Ma’am?”  
  
“Anything further on John Doe?”  
  
“James has had one idea, but we have to wait until the DNA result is back.  Meanwhile we’re focussing on the Crevecoeur records.”  
  
“Which is where your found Helena Cooke?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  Lewis watched her scan the office.  
  
“Where’s Hathaway?  And please don't give me the ‘following up enquiries’ line.”  Lewis recognised her genuine concern.   
  
“What have you heard?”  
  
“Talk of his fainting spell at Crevecoeur is all over the station, and I’ve heard a couple of reliable rumours you stopped him falling down on the station steps the other morning.”  
  
“He's back at his doctor.  It started with some trouble sleeping and escalated from there to the point he was heavily sleep deprived.  He's been staying with me the last few days so I can keep an eye on him.”  
  
“That’s above and beyond the call, Robbie.   You’re a good friend.”  
  
Lewis saw James approaching the office.  He was slouched, and straightened as soon as he caught sight of Lewis watching him.  He appeared to notice Innocent at the same time.  
  
“Here’s James now, ma’am.”  
  
“Sir.  Ma’am.”  James walked briskly to his desk, in complete contrast to his passage through the outer office.  He turned his attention to Innocent.  “Did you want to see me, ma’am?”  
  
“I was merely checking up the situation with John Doe, James, which, Inspector Lewis informs me, is under control.  Good day, gentlemen.”   
  
James’s eyes followed her retreating back then he swivelled back Lewis.  
  
“Funny,” James remarked with a half-smile.  “I thought my name was James Hathaway.”  
  
“Your tumble at Crevecoeur’s become break room gossip.  She’s worried, but because of her position she can’t make a fuss about it, unlike me and Laura.  How’d you get on at the doctors.”  
  
James slouched forward, leaning on the desk.  “He’s changed the sleeping tablet.  Last night could have simply been a reaction with the wine, but taking into account the fact I’ve only been getting ‘restless sleep’, he thought it best.  I’m to take two of these – no more, no less – but they will leave me feeling groggy, though he assures me the effect will wear off once I’m up and about.”  James tossed the packet on the desk.  “We’ll see.”  
  
Lewis knew it was pointless to ask if he’d mentioned the wounds.  It went without saying he hadn’t.  “At least the weekend’s coming up, and you look like you’re moving a bit easier.”  
  
“Small mercies.”  
  
*****  
  
By mid-afternoon, James packed away the last of the employee records.  Seven possible matches came to naught as, one after the other, they were readily traced: three had criminal records, two were deceased and legally buried, one was a sitting council member, and the last a recently retired police sergeant with the Met.  He drafted the file note, planning to complete it once John Doe had a name.  
  
He pushed his keyboard away.  “Should we go back to McCall’s?”  
  
“I think it can wait until Monday.”  Lewis stretched back in his chair.  
  
“I’d like to get it out of the way.”  James concentrated on being matter of fact.  “The sooner we examine the records, the sooner Mr McCall can get back into his basement.”  Going back to _that_ basement was the last thing James really wanted to do, but it was still their best resource at this point.  His primary concern was the high possibility he would end up having to go on his own if they didn’t go today while Lewis was free.  
  
Lewis shook his head slowly.  “You need to give yourself a break, James.  Let’s finish up what we can here today, maybe take an early mark.  We can go out to McCall’s tomorrow, and pack what we need into the car for Monday.  I’d be failing you as you as both friend and senior officer if I let you keep pushing yourself.”  
  
James recognised the wisdom in his words and nodded his agreement.  
  
After stacking the boxes together, James made a start on the quarterly report, even though it wasn’t due for three weeks.  Robbie had returned to a cold case he’d been looking at off and on for a few weeks.  
  
James was drawn back to the photo he took in McCall’s basement.  Since this case started he’d repeatedly had the sense of being watched and the image he captured did nothing to ease his disquiet.  James had never paid much attention to programs which revolved around supposed hauntings, but he had seen and read enough to know there were those who firmly believed a ghost or spirit, or whatever name you wanted to give it, could be caught on camera.  He weighed up the odds he had captured an unseen entity on his phone against the possibility the camera had a fault.  _It must have taken a solid knock when I went down at Crevecoeur._ He removed his phone and examined the lens.  With a dissatisfied huff, he located the magnifying glass in his drawer and pulled the desk lamp down over his phone.  Across the floor, Lewis cleared his throat.  James raised his head slowly.  
  
“What on earth are you doing?”  
  
“Ah... cleaning it.”  
  
“Right.”  Lewis shook head and returned to his file.  
  
James put the phone face down on the desk.  He hadn’t seen anything which might have caused a fault in any photographs.  The only way to be certain it was or wasn’t the phone itself was to take more photos.  He flicked the phone onto silent and, holding it in such a way as to be discreet, took a photo of Lewis.  He checked the photo, zooming in to look for anything irregular, but apart from being out of focus, it was normal.  He tried again, tapping the screen to make the camera focus.  Lewis flicked a glance sideways at him.  James put the camera back on the desk and tried to concentrate on the report.  When Lewis spun around to retrieve a file from the bookcase behind him, James looked at the second photo.  It was also blurred.  To see if it was simply the lens, he switched to the front facing camera, pointing it at himself.  The phone thunked onto the desk when he saw Helena standing over his shoulder.  James spun in his chair, only to be confronted by the sight of Hooper’s back on the other side of the glass.  He quickly turned back and trained the camera on himself again.  The glass and Hooper’s back were the only things visible behind him, but it was definitely not what he saw before.  He slipped the phone back into his pocket as the hair on the back of his neck began to prickle again with the sense of being observed.  James raised his eyes to see Lewis watching him thoughtfully.   
  
“Time for home, James.”  
  
James wasn’t about to argue.  
  
*****  
  
As promised, Laura came over early in the evening to change James’s dressings.  Although James was moving better, as Lewis had noticed, it was still easier to perform the procedure with James on the kitchen table.   
  
“You’re healing remarkably well, James, far more quickly than I would have anticipated.  Only a couple really need to be redressed.  I can’t do very much for the scarring I’m afraid.  That takes time.”  
  
“It’s worked on every other scar,” James murmured.  “Thank you, Doctor.”  
  
“James, what did I say?”  
  
“Sorry.  Thank you, Laura.  Will you stay for dinner, or at least a drink?”  
  
“I’d love to, James, but I’m meeting up with an old friend.  You remember Ellen Jacoby, don’t you?”  
  
“Yes.”  James wasn’t likely to forget those connected to the case which saw Laura almost fall prey to psychopathic siblings.  “Another time?”  
  
“It’s a date.”  
  
“You’re not staying?”  Lewis was leaning against the door frame.  
  
Laura smiled apologetically.  “Not tonight – long-standing engagement.”  
  
Lewis saw Laura to her car while James made a start on dinner.  
  
*****  
  
James picked at his food.  The risotto had been quick and easy to make – James found it easiest to pour all the warm stock in at once and stir it occasionally, rather than the palaver of adding half a cup of stock at a time – and it smelled wonderful, but James could barely lift his hand to eat.  His other elbow rested on the edge of the table, and his chin was propped in his hand.  
  
“Early night, lad?”  
  
James tilted his chin up, sighed and blinked slowly.  
  
“I’ll take that as a yes.  When do you have to take the sleeping tablets?”  
  
“Twenty minutes to half an hour before bed, same as the last lot.”  
  
“Which in your case seemed to translate to about ten minutes,” Lewis remarked dryly.  
  
James screwed up his nose.  He lifted his head and rubbed his hand down his face.   
  
*****  
  
James managed to watch about twenty minutes of telly before giving in and heading up to bed.  His new tablets were less bitter than his previous ones, which was a small blessing.  Lewis promised to be up as soon as he could.  
  
“You don’t have to come up on my account.  From what you’ve told me, nothing seems to happen in the first hour or so anyway.”  He thought he’d sounded reassuring, but the look on Lewis’s face said otherwise.  James felt his irritation with what he was starting to perceive as being coddled truly rise for the first time.  “I’m the one this is happening to.  If I say I’ll be all right on my own, I will be.”  
  
Lewis raised a hand in surrender and the fight left James.  He opened his mouth to apologise.  
  
“On you go, James.”  Lewis’s kindness washed across the guilt James felt.  “It’s okay.  I know you’re not quite yourself.”  
  
*****  
  
James eyelids fluttered open.  He had no idea what time it was, but Lewis was in bed and, it appeared, asleep.  James listened carefully to determine what woke him.  His head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton wool, and his limbs were lead weights.  A change in the light, perhaps it was a shadow, drew his attention to the foot of the bed, where the figure stood once again.  
  
“Please,” he whispered, “I want to bring you justice, but I can't do it if I’m battered and exhausted.”  
  
The figure seemed to half-bow and fade.  James felt sleep crash in on him like a rogue wave.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

SATURDAY  
  
Lewis tripped over Monty where he’d stretched in front of the bedroom door again.  Swearing loudly, he managed to stop himself crashing to the floor by throwing his arm out and catching the door frame.   
  
“You bloody fool cat.  You’re going to get yourself seriously hurt one day.”  He clapped his hand over his mouth as he remembered James, still fast asleep in bed.  Lewis looked into the room to see, to his relief, he hadn’t moved.  He was curled on his side, facing the door.  His face – his entire body – was calm, and had been calm all night, except for one brief period just after midnight.  When Robbie had woken again shortly after seven, James’s back was pressed lightly against his own.  
  
Lewis showered and dressed, and James slept on.  He’d just put a second load of clothes into the washer dryer when he heard the shower start.  James padded down the stairs twenty minutes later, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt.  For the first time in several weeks, he had colour in his cheeks.  
  
“What a difference a night makes,” Lewis remarked.  “I heard you talking in your sleep, though.”  
  
“Oh.”  James stared blankly at him.  “Did I say anything interesting?”  
  
“I don’t know.  You were mumbling.”  
  
Lewis saw a flicker of relief flit across James’s face and suspected James knew what he’d said.  Lewis let it go.  James would tell him when and if he was ready, and there was little point in trying to prise it out of him.  
  
*****  
  
As agreed, they went to Robert McCall’s in the afternoon.  James had called ahead to let him know, only to be told he was currently out, but would be back later on in the afternoon.  
  
James wedged the basement door open with a piece of folded cardboard.  Lewis watched him curiously.  
  
“The draughts in this house are odd.  Last time I was here, the door slammed shut on me and jammed, and to cap it off the bloody stair light blew at the same time,” James explained.  
  
Lewis flicked the switch and soft yellow light filled the stairs.  “It’s working fine now.”  
  
James assumed McCall must have come down for something himself and found the blown bulb, as, in his shaken state, James had forgotten to let him know.  
  
With both of them sorting, they made short work of separating out the tenant records.  In addition to those needed to hopefully identify John Doe, James gathered those from 1980 to 1985 to look for anyone, tenant or employee, male or female, who left Crevecoeur without warning, or if there was anything out of the ordinary – unexplained absences, injuries – after Christmas 1982, when Helena was last seen by her family.  In all, they came away with three boxes.  
  
Mr McCall arrived home as they were taking the boxes out to Lewis’s car.  James carried the lightest of the three, the only one Lewis would let him carry, while Lewis travelled up and down the stairs twice.  
  
“I’m not a bloody invalid,” James had protested.  
  
“No, but I will be if you reinjure yourself in any way.  Laura’ll see to that,” Lewis had countered.  
  
James paused on the front step and asked McCall about the stair light.  
  
“I didn’t realise it had blown.  You should have mentioned it, I’ve always got spares.  I can change it now, if you need it.”  
  
James hid his puzzlement.  “Oh, that won’t be necessary, it’s working fine now.  There must have been another reason why it went out.”  
  
McCall looked perturbed.  “I hope not.  I had the whole house rewired when I bought it five years ago.”  
  
James had no answer to offer.  
  
*****  
  
The pressure on Lewis’s shoulder was the first clue.  The snoring was a giveaway.  James had fallen asleep on the couch and had slumped against him.  Lewis inched his way along the couch, gradually lowering James onto his side.  Standing behind the couch, Lewis slipped his hands under James’s arms and slid him up so he could put his feet up.  After covering him with a blanket, Lewis turned off the main light and switched on the lamp, before settling into one of the armchairs to wait for James to waken, even slightly, so he could help him up to bed.  

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

SUNDAY  
  
Lewis woke when Monty began to knead his lap, the tiny punctures jolting him to wakefulness.  
  
“Oi, stop it!,” he whispered sharply in annoyance, carefully extracting both claws and cat off his lap.  
  
He stretched and rolled his neck from side to side, groaning as he eased the unexpected stiffness out.  James was still asleep the couch, the blanket draped over him.  Lewis checked his watch and was a little put out to discover it was just after 6am.   
  
“Great,” he muttered.  He couldn’t remember falling asleep and, although the chair was comfortable, a night sleeping upright wasn’t going to do his back any favours.  He pushed himself to his feet, walked stiffly across to switch off the lamp, and considered his options.  
  
It was a cruel time to be awake on a Sunday when they didn’t have to work, but he couldn’t see the point in trying to go back to sleep either.  He decided it wasn’t too early for breakfast – he’d have to feed Monty regardless if he wanted any peace – and if he half-closed the door, he’d be less likely to disturb James.  Judging by his position, James had barely moved at all during the night.  With two undisturbed nights in a row, Lewis hoped the nightmares were past.  
  
*****  
  
“Smells good.”  James wandered into the kitchen as Lewis poured the coffee.  
  
“It should.  It’s that special blend you like.  Toast?”  
  
“Please.”  
  
“You sit down; I’ll bring it over.”  He gently nudged James away from the worktop with his elbow.  
  
Butter, jam, and marmalade sat on the table next to a small tower of toast nestled under a tea towel.  
  
“You weren’t planning on eating all of that yourself, were you?”  James held up a corner of the towel.  
  
Lewis put two steaming mugs on the table.  “I heard you talking to Monty so I knew you were awake, and I was fairly confident you’d be through as soon as you smelled coffee.  It made sense to make a few more slices.  If you don’t want it, there’re still some eggs.”  
  
“Toast’s fine.  Thanks.”  
  
They ate quietly.  Lewis watched James break off small pieces of buttered toast and slip them to Monty, who was sitting on the chair to his right.  It was the closest the cat had come to him in days.  The sleeve of James’s t-shirt had been pushed up and Lewis could see the marks where the ends of the longest scratches had almost reached his wrists.  The bruising itself had faded to a dirty yellow.  He studied James’s face.  The haunted look – Lewis tutted to himself at his choice of words – had receded, and for that he was grateful.  
  
James glanced up and caught Lewis’s eye.  Lewis smiled when he pre-empted his obvious questions.  “Yes, I slept very well, and no, no dreams.”  
  
“You dropped off so quickly last night.  I didn’t realise you’d taken your tablets at dinner.”   
  
James’s expression altered subtly.  “I didn’t take them at all.”  
  
“You didn’t?”  Lewis’s voice rose in surprise.  
  
“It wasn’t a decision I made.  I just… fell asleep.”  
  
“That’s a hell of a change in a day or so.  Has something happened you’ve not told me about?”  
  
James was hesitant.  Lewis was patient.  
  
“When you heard me talk in my sleep the other night, I wasn’t asleep.”  James paused, clearly waiting for Lewis to say something.  
  
“Go on.”  
  
James explained about the figure he saw, and his plea.  Even with everything which had happened, Lewis wasn’t quite sure what to think.  
  
“You really saw something?  In the bedroom?”  
  
James nodded.  
  
“And you believe simply by telling it–”  
  
“Helena,” James interrupted with conviction.  “I know it was Helena.”  
  
“By telling… Helena what you were doing, it was enough to stop the dreams?”  
  
“They have stopped, and I have no other reasonable explanation.”  
  
“You’re sure it’s not just because you managed to get a decent, solid sleep, and gave your mind a chance to wind down?”  
  
James shook his head emphatically.  “I’m sleeping because the dreams have stopped.  And the dreams have stopped because Helena now knows what I’m doing.  I think she thought I was going to hide the truth.”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“From the beginning I’ve wondered, why me?  I would have been barely five when Helena disappeared.  I couldn’t have had any connection to her, but I was connected to Crevecoeur.  Perhaps that was enough?  Then my father appeared.  He didn’t help Helena, chasing me instead.  I had to ask myself, was I remembering something which had actually happened?  It still didn’t explain the attacks, though.  There had to be something else.”  
  
Lewis thought he could see where James’s thinking was headed, but let him continue.  
  
“If it was a memory, maybe she was angry at my father for not doing anything to save her.  She couldn’t take it out on him, but I was there.  She lay hidden for years while we were still at Crevecoeur.  I played under those trees – on top of her grave.  If my father could bury such a dark secret, perhaps she thought I could too, in order to protect him.  She’s left me alone since I said I wanted to find out what happened.”  
  
Lewis’s uncertainty must have shown on his face.  
  
“I know it sounds far-fetched, but do you have anything else?”  
  
Lewis eventually sighed heavily.  “Not really.”  
  
*****  
  
Lewis kept an eye on James for the rest of the morning.  When he caught James staring back at him, he had to ask himself what he was really looking for.  It wasn’t as though James had been ill and might relapse, though in the back of Lewis’s mind it was still a possibility.  He went back to tidying and laundry, while James continued to work slowly through one of the boxes they’d taken from McCall’s.  
  
Lewis had initially protested when James brought the box into the house.  When James had given him a withering look in response, Lewis had to acknowledge James was closer to his usual self than he’d first thought.  
   
Lewis had been tossing an idea around for a couple of days and decided today was as good a time as any to see if it would be well received.  Hoping James liked cheese and pickle, he made up a plate of sandwiches and carried them, with a pot of tea, into the front room where James was working.  
  
“Time for a break.”  
  
James marked his place in the file with his notebook, and placed it on top of the box.  
  
Lewis waited until James had swallowed the first mouthful of sandwich.  
  
“I’ve got a proposal for you.”  
  
The sandwich stopped midway to James’s mouth.  He looked at Lewis curiously.  
  
“What are your plans for finding a new place to live?”  Lewis had expected some reaction, but not the crestfallen expression which had settled briefly on his face before it took on the more familiar neutral look James favoured.  
  
“I was going to start looking once we reached a resolution in this case.”  
  
“Don’t.”  
  
“I have to.”  
  
“Would you consider staying on here?”  
  
“Permanently?”  
  
“I’m glad I listened to your suggestions when I was looking for a new place.  Having the extra space is good – Lyn called yesterday, and the family are coming down next bank holiday.  Tim’s even going to take a few days leave so they can stay longer.  But I’ve started to wonder if, in between times, it isn’t going to be a bit too big, if you know what I mean.  You could pay rent and we could split the utilities, we already know there’s enough room for the two cars, and for each of us to have our own space, and we’ve been getting on okay, haven’t we.”  
  
“I, ah...”  James stammered.  Lewis would have sworn from James’s reaction only a moment ago that he wouldn’t have hesitated to accept.  Now Lewis wondered if he’d only seen what he hoped to see.  
  
“I can understand if you’ve got reservations about the room after... everything, but there’s no reason why you couldn’t have the other one.  They’re both the same size and it would be easy enough to swap any of the furniture around.  You don’t have to give me an answer now.  Think on it.  I realise sharing a place isn’t for everyone.”  
  
James looked more composed, and Lewis was hopeful.  
  
*****  
  
James fell into a deep sleep on the couch again that night.  This time, however, Lewis woke him by shaking his shoulder lightly, and James made it up the stairs under his own steam.  Lewis walked behind him to ensure there were no mishaps.   
  
 _A few more nights like this,_ Lewis thought, _and James will be completely back to his old self._ He wondered what James’s view of ghosts would be once his balance was restored.


	14. Monday

 

To Lewis’s relief, James woke readily with the alarm the following morning.  He’d had visions of his Mark during his teenage years, and Val’s frustrations at trying to get him up and off to school on time.  Even after all these years, Lewis felt the familiar stab of guilt at how relieved he’d been that he’d usually been off to work by that time of the morning.  
  
When Lewis went downstairs, James, showered and dressed, had made coffee and was cooking omelette.  The box he’d been working on was waiting by the door, the table had been set, and Monty had been fed; at the very least, he wasn’t pestering Lewis to feed him.  The scene only strengthened Lewis’s belief he and James would get along well as housemates in the long term.  
  
*****  
  
James closed the file he’d been working on.  He rolled his chair back to return the file to the box when Laura tapped on the door.  
  
“I have your DNA results, gentleman.  John Doe is a familial match to Augustus Mortmaigne.  They’re definitely brothers.  James, you never did tell me how you arrived at that possibility.”  
  
“He disappeared from the family records, and we were unable to find any trace of him.”  
  
“Surely the family reported him missing?”  
  
“We’ve found nothing.”  
  
“That’s suspicious.”  Laura perched on the edge of Lewis’s desk.  
  
“It is now we know he’s been lying dead and buried all these years.”  James was disgusted.  “It puts the focus straight onto the Mortmaigne family, specifically Augustus.”  
  
“You’re pretty definite about that.”  Robbie folded his arms across his chest.  
  
“Had anyone outside the family murdered Tiberius, or he’d simply up and disappeared, I’m certain there would have been a great hue and cry.  We would have found something on record somewhere.”  
  
“Not necessarily.  Perhaps whoever did it had a powerful hold over the family?”  
  
“Augustus was involved.  I feel it in my bones.”  
  
Lewis closed the file in front of him.  “So far you’ve been right about Helena Cooke and Tiberius Mortmaigne.  Look into the family again.  Anything that’s the slightest bit off, be it with Augustus or anyone else who featured in those family portraits, I want you to dig deeper.  If Augustus Mortmaigne was complicit in the murder of his brother, there’s a good chance he knew about or was involved in Helena Cooke’s death as well, or knew who was.”  Lewis sighed heavily.  “Do you want to notify the family or shall I?”  
  
James grimaced.  
  
“That’ll be an interesting call.  ‘Hi, Titus, we found your long-lost uncle – whom you probably know nothing about – buried under the lilacs next to a murdered woman.  By the way, we think your father may somehow have been involved in both deaths’.  Nice.”  
  
“I’ll do it.”  Lewis raised a hand to stop James’s attempt at a half-hearted objection.  “Your own feelings about the place might hit too close to home.”  
  
*****  
  
Titus stared at Lewis.  
  
“Are you certain?”  
  
“DNA doesn’t lie, Titus.  The man we found at Crevecoeur is your father’s brother.  Do you know anything about him?”  
  
Titus frowned.  “Tiberius is mentioned in the family tree in the front of the family bible, but according to that, he died at the age of ten.  I remember because I asked my father about him once, and he flew into a rage and told me to never speak of him again.  I always thought it was because he’d never stopped grieving.  But if he was murdered as an adult...  It is definitely murder?”  
  
“His death was caused by a blow to the head.  It could have been accidental, but the manner of his burial strongly suggests otherwise.”  
  
“And you suspect my father?”  
  
“We have reason to believe he was involved in some way.”  
  
“But you don’t know for sure?”  
  
“We’re still investigating possible leads.”  _If James’s gut instinct can be classified as a lead._  
  
Titus exhaled slowly.  “What happens now?”  
  
“The pathologist will finish her report, and the remains will be released to you as next of kin.”  
  
Titus looked bewildered.  “Oh.  I suppose he should be buried beside Augustus.  Is it wrong I don’t feel anything?”  
  
“No, I don’t think so, lad,” Lewis reassured him.  “And I wouldn’t worry about it too much.  It won’t change anything that’s happened.  We’ll keep you informed of any developments which might affect you.”  
  
“May I go now, inspector?”  
  
Lewis merely nodded, though he wanted nothing more than to be able to direct Titus to someone who would understand what he was feeling and could comfort and guide him.  
  
“Oh, there is one thing.”  Lewis stopped Titus as he reached the door.  “I’m not sure if Sergeant Hathaway’s had a chance to speak to you, but thanks for giving us access to the records.  They gave us the woman’s identity, and we’ve located her family.”  
  
Titus managed a twitched half-smile.  “I’m glad they were good for something.  Good day,, inspector.”  
  
Lewis felt sorry for the young man.  The knowledge his father was a paedophile must be a heavy burden to carry.  To learn murder may also be a part of his past would surely crush out any lingering trace of kindness he may have still felt towards him.  
  
*****  
  
James passed another drug-free, dreamless night, though he still sought the comfort of Lewis’s company.  



	15. Tuesday

While Lewis continued working through the records from Crevecoeur, searching for any names to follow up on, James scoured the police databases and online newspaper archives for anything which might provide a lead.  James concentrated his search on the six months between Helena’s last contact with her family, and when she was reported missing.  He also chased up his query about the gap in the missing persons’ reports, and was dismayed to learn a ten-week gap in records had been identified.  There was a possibility their murderer, if it wasn’t Augustus, could be among those missing names.  
  
Further tests on the skeleton and surrounding soil had shown conclusively Tiberius was buried approximately ten years after Helena.  Despite this, James felt certain he was in some way connected to her death.  Had he been a witness to Augustus, or another member of the family, killing her, and was eventually silenced?  And then there was the odd fact of Tiberius being declared dead at ten.  
  
Setting aside the manner of Tiberius’s burial, there was always the possibility his death could have been an accident, but without the evidence usually provided by the soft tissues Laura had had to leave her findings open; it would be up to him and Lewis to determine accident or murder.  Curiously, while the depressed fracture of the skull was the only potentially fatal injury inscribed in the bones, both Laura and the forensic anthropologist had identified serious injuries which had most likely occurred before Tiberius was ten.  They included a previous skull fracture, and fractures to several vertebrae, and the left arm and clavicle, consistent, Laura found, with a fall from a height.   
  
With a massive yawn, James pushed back from his desk and stretched, pushing hands and feet as far from his torso as he could.  He stopped in full stretch when he noticed Lewis wasn’t at his desk.  A rich, tomato aroma drifting in from the outer office made his stomach rumble noisily and he checked the time.  It was after one.  James wondered why Lewis hadn’t stopped him for a break, when he spotted the full mug of tea on his desk, and a toppled pile of four chocolate digestives sitting beside it.  The cup was stone cold.  James groaned as he got to his feet, his back protesting at the unwanted movement.  James rolled his eyes at himself.  He was in the firing line for lectures from both Lewis and Laura if he wasn’t careful.  James headed to the break room to make himself a fresh drink.  
  
On his way back, he stopped to talk to Julie about her preparations for her OSPRE exam, offering to quiz her, if she wanted.  All up he was away from the office for nearly fifteen minutes.  When he returned, Lewis was behind his desk with a takeaway curry and rice, and a steaming plastic bag sat on his own desk.  Beside it was a large bubble envelope.  
  
Lewis looked him up and down.  “Nice to see your legs _are_ functioning today.”  
  
James shrugged sheepishly.  “You bought me lunch?”  James cringed at his own obvious question.  
  
Lewis peered up at him.  “And you’re observant, too.  Today just keeps getting better.”  James snorted softly and examined the bag.  “It’s lamb korma,” Lewis informed him.  “Eat up before it gets cold.”  
  
James murmured his thanks.  Sitting down, he opened the container and scooped out a large forkful before examining the envelope.  It was postmarked Calgary.  
  
“Desk sergeant passed it on.  It arrived just before I came back in.”  
  
James turned it over.  The return address confirmed it was from the solicitors – not that he was expecting any other mail from Canada, but it had been a strange time and, as far as James was concerned, anything was possible.  He put it in his in-tray.  
  
“You’re not going to open it?”  
  
Lewis was watching him enquiringly.  
  
“I’ll look at it later.  I don’t want to spoil my lunch.”  
  
Lewis shrugged and returned to his curry.  
  
James put a file on top of the envelope and concentrated on eating.  It was a good curry, and James couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a hot meal at his desk.  He was very aware of the curious glances Lewis was giving him.  
  
*****  
  
James spent another hour or so on searching the newspaper records.  He’d moved both his chair and monitor so he couldn’t see the in-tray and its contents from the corner of his eye.  He wanted to know what was in the envelope, but at the same time he wished the solicitors hadn’t been able to locate him.  He was still in shock at the discovery his father had been alive until recently.   
  
Eventually, curiosity overcame dread and he opened the envelope.  Inside were a letter from the solicitor, a small sheaf of forms, and another, smaller sealed envelope.  He dealt with the letter first, quickly skimming the contents.  He was astonished to discover his father had left him cash assets equivalent to over sixty-thousand pounds.  The remainder of the letter consisted of instructions for the completion of the enclosed documentation, which would allow for the transfer of his inheritance.  James put the letter and forms to one side and considered the smaller envelope.  Carefully opening it, he tipped the contents onto his desk.  All the while he was mindful of Lewis watching him.  He gasped as photographs spilled across his desk  
  
“James?”  Concern and worry mingle together in Lewis’s voice.  
  
“It’s my mother.”  James stared down at images of himself and his mother.  All his life, he’d only ever seen one photograph of her, which had been taken at his christening.  He’d hidden it in the bottom of his case when he’d packed to go to school, only to be heartbroken when he’d arrived and found a note from his father instead, calling him a little thief and hoping the school would beat respect into him.  He spread the photographs out, quickly realising this was a visual record of his first three years.  
  
“She was beautiful.”  He hadn’t heard Lewis cross the office and startled.  Lewis laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.  
  
“She was,” James agreed in an awed whisper.  Lewis squeezed his shoulder and went back to his desk.  James gathered the images up reverently, slipping them carefully back into the envelope.  It was too overwhelming to sort through them now.  Underneath them was a notebook, not dissimilar to the one they found in the metal box.  
  
James returned the smaller envelope, letter and forms back into the bubble envelope.  As he put his fingers on the notebook it shot off his desk and slammed into the wall, dropping to the floor.  James’s hand froze in place, hovering above the desk and he stared at the book; its spine had split, and a few pages had come loose.  
  
“What the hell was that?” Lewis queried.  
  
James forced his gaze towards Lewis and was met with a scowl.  
  
“Notebook,” was all James could manage.  
  
“What’s the big idea flinging it across the office?”  
  
“I... didn’t.”  
  
“It flew its own?”  
  
James didn’t blame Lewis for being sceptical.  He didn’t want to accept it either.  Helena was gone, and if it wasn’t her, who, or what, was it?  
  
“You... didn’t see it?”  James’s head swivelled between Lewis and the book.  
  
Lewis shook his head, his lips pressed tightly together.  
  
“Sorry,” James mumbled, not quite sure what else to say.  
  
James went to retrieve the book.  Just before he grasped it, he would have sworn it moved again.  
  
James wrapped it in a piece of copy paper, to stop the loose pages falling out, and replaced it with the other items.  
  
*****  
  
Mid-afternoon, James took a break from his searching and had a proper look at the forms from the solicitor.  They all seemed fairly straightforward and he concluded he’d be able to send them back within a day or so.  That he would take the money wasn’t in doubt.  Although he felt nothing towards his father, he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to take whatever he could from the man who had done little more for him than give him half his DNA.  
  
James’s evening was sorted: dinner, paperwork, and bed.  
  
*****  
  
James rolled over and found himself on his hands and knees in wet grass.   
  
“What the f–?”  He spun around as a roar erupted behind him.  James’s mind boggled at the scene before him.  Tiberius was bearing down on him – he was fairly sure it was Tiberius – with a speed which belied his size.  James scrambled to his feet, moving in the opposite direction, only to find himself heading straight for the lake at Crevecoeur.  He could see the old, now long gone, wishing well off to his right.  
  
Before James could change direction, Tiberius slammed into him from behind, knocking the wind out of him and propelling him into the murky waters.  Breathless, James thrashed out with his arms and kicked out with his legs, hoping to contact the bottom, which he knew couldn’t be far away, the lake being no more than three or four feet deep this close to the edge.  Just has he was beginning to think he’d been thrust out further into the lake than he’d originally thought, his fingers raked through the muddy bottom.  Swinging his legs down as best he could, James pushed himself upwards as hard as possible.  He burst thought the lake’s surface, sucking in pain-filled lungfuls of air.  
  
Hands gripped his shoulders, up high near his neck, and rammed him under the water once again.  James struggled, kicking backwards with his feet.  When he tried to lash out with his fists, the hold on his shoulders tightened.  He was pushed down further, and his knees connected with the bottom.  Panic rushed up like a fountain, and James began to grab at the hands on his shoulders.  Spots swam against the back of his eyelids and his lungs were ready to burst.  A lightning flash seared through the encroaching blackness and a voice in James’s head told him he was surely going to die.  Everything went topsy turvy and James was being dragged backwards and upwards.  His head broke through, and cool air washed over his skin.  The water around him was eerily still.  Instead of ripples and bubbles and a wake, the surface was like a mirror.  Helena stood at the top of the sloped bank.  Tiberius had his back to James and was lumbering towards her.  Thousands of shards of light exploded out in all directions, forcing James to cover his head and duck.  An outraged bellow echoed across the lake.  James didn’t move until silence reigned once more.  Helena still stood on the bank while Tiberius was nowhere to be seen.  Confused and overwhelmed, James laid back and let himself float.  He yelled and kicked when hands grabbed his shoulders again.  
  
“James!”  
  
James went limp at the familiar voice so close and opened his eyes.  Lewis was kneeling on the bed beside him and pulled him into a sitting position.  James leant forward with his forearms resting against his thighs and sucked in long, deep breaths.  
  
“Bloody hell, lad, what happened?  What was it?”  Lewis’s voice shook and his eyes were wide with fear.  “I thought you'd stopped breathing.”  
  
Realising he was safe, James trembled with relief.  “I think I nearly did.”  
  
Lewis changed position, sitting beside James and wrapping an arm around his shoulder.  James sank against him and, beginning haltingly, related the dream.  
  
Lewis drew away, forcing James to sit up.  He held Lewis’s searching gaze.  “Why would Tiberius attack you – if that’s what it was?  And why now?”  
  
“I don’t know.  Maybe he hated my father, maybe there is a link between him and Helena we haven’t found yet.  If Augustus killed them both, perhaps Tiberius is taking over because Helena’s stopped.”  
  
“And perhaps you need to take a holiday.  You’re making these... dream images sound like flesh and blood people with motive and opportunity.”   
  
James began to prickle at Lewis’s stubbornness to accept he had been targeted by ghosts.  He rebuked himself as quickly.  Lewis had always respected his beliefs and the least James could do was return that respect.  
  
“A holiday’s not necessary.  I can’t explain it, but I think he’s gone, destroyed somehow.”  
  
“And Helena?”  
  
“She doesn’t want to hurt me.”  
  
“You really believe you’ve been... haunted, don’t you?”  
  
“I haven’t imagined the things which have happened to me, and you’ve been a witness to the fact something has happened.  Has my behaviour been so out of character otherwise?  Have I said or done anything to honestly give you cause to think there’s something physically or mentally wrong with me?  Do you have another explanation?”  
  
Lewis took a while to answer, studying James carefully.  “No.”  
  
“Then I have to conclude I was haunted.”  
  
“James...”  
  
“I’m not asking you to accept it.  And I can assure you, I won’t be seeking it out.  It’s happened, and I think it’s past, or nearly so.”  
  
Lewis pulled James to his side once again.  “This is where you’re supposed to quote me something from Shakespeare, or Donne, or one of the philosophers.”  
  
James thought for a moment.  _“Now I know what a ghost is.  Unfinished business, that’s what."_  
  
“Where’s that from then?”  
  
“Salman Rushdie, _The Satanic Verses_.”  To judge by Lewis’s face, it wasn’t the answer he’d expected.  
  
Lewis rubbed his hand up and down James’s upper arm, and James savoured the feeling of being comforted.  It had been a rare commodity in his life, and he decided he could easily become accustomed to knowing someone else was looking out for him.  
  
With a quick squeeze, Lewis withdrew his arm.  “I don’t know about you, but I could use another cocoa, perhaps with a small measure of something for added kick.  Join me?”  
  
“Lead the way.”  



	16. Wednesday

After making cocoa and reassuring Lewis he was okay, they’d finally gone back to bed at 2am.  James had fallen into a deep, unbroken sleep.  Despite that, he was tired in the morning, though he had been relieved to find himself unharmed after the nightmare.  He’d expected to at least see bruising around his shoulders and neck where he’d been held down, but there wasn’t a mark to be seen.  
  
*****  
  
The small notebook, still wrapped in the sheet of paper, sat in James’s in-tray.  His original intention had been to read it at home in the evening yet, as they’d left the house, he’d darted back inside to retrieve it from the bookshelf where he’d tucked it out of the way.   He’d flicked through it quickly in the car, surprised to discover the pages were tightly crammed with his father’s handwriting, not the sparse notes he’d expected.  However, he couldn’t bring himself to read any of it then.  
  
When Lewis left for the senior officers’ briefing, James placed the small package in the middle of his desk and unwrapped it.  There was nothing remarkable about it, nothing to make it stand out from the hundreds of thousands of similar books which had been produced.  
  
James opened the cover and began to read, his shock growing with each new page.  While the content was unexpected and disturbing, James was also stunned by his father’s eloquence.  He’d always considered him rough and not very well-read.  James had been a bit of a snob where his father was concerned, and now he was being forced to rethink his opinion.  However, there could never be anything which would give James a reason to honour or respect his father.  
  
James was still absorbing the information revealed when Lewis returned to the office, the notebook now lying face down on its makeshift wrapper.  
  
“I know what happened,” James said softly.  
  
“Happened where?”  Lewis was frowning at something on his screen.  
  
“At Crevecoeur.”  James’s tone didn’t change.  Lewis looked up slowly, obviously deciding how to respond.  
  
“I didn’t dream it.  I didn’t hear voices.”  James held up the note book.  “It’s all in here.  My father recorded what happened.  I think that’s why it flew off the desk yesterday – Tiberius didn’t want me to read it.  And he attacked me because he knew I had it.”  
  
Without a word, Lewis rose, closed the door and shut all the blinds.  He rolled his chair across the floor and pushed it up against the filing cabinet behind James’s desk.  James had followed his progress and they now faced each other, barely three feet apart.  
  
“I’m listening, James.”  
  
“Tiberius killed Helena, and then ten years later, in an argument with Augustus, he fell on the steps of the summer house, hitting his head.  Augustus concealed both deaths.  But he wasn’t alone.”  
  
“CPS’ll need more than a couple of sentences.”  James bit his bottom lip and Lewis regarded him intently.  “You look rattled.  Do you want to wait until tonight, tell me at home?”  
  
“No.”  James was emphatic.  “This stays here, in the station, like this book.”  
  
Lewis reached across and quickly gripped and released James’s knee.  “Can you give me the full story?”  
  
James nodded and took a deep breath.   
  
“If you need to stop at any point just say so.  Is it okay if I interrupt you to clarify anything?”  
  
“Yeah.”  James exhaled slowly.  “Apparently, Helena used to look after me a lot after my mother died.  I really don’t remember her at all.”  
  
“Not consciously, at least.”  
  
“You think I do?”  
  
“I think there’s a good chance.”  
  
James pondered the possibility his dreams were in fact memories.  It wasn’t a pleasant thought when weighed against what he’d read.  
  
“The night Helena was murdered, I was five.  My father, Edward, had taken me out on his regular patrol of the grounds.”  
  
“At five?” Lewis exclaimed.  
  
“I was afraid of the dark – something I suspect I had in common with many five-year-olds – and he was determined to either scare or beat it out of me.  We were across the lake from the hall when he heard screams which he recognised as Helena’s.  He saw Augustus running from the hall towards the screams – into the lilacs behind the summerhouse.  He told me to run to Lodge Farm and not look back.  I’m not mentioned again, so I guess I did – or perhaps I hid myself nearby.”  James allowed himself a small shudder for the little boy who may have witnessed a murder.  “He writes he ran into the trees where he found Tiberius and Augustus arguing over Helena’s body.  Tiberius was saying it was an accident.  Augustus was yelling at him, saying he was going to be locked away for good this time.”  
  
“This time?”  
  
“Further in, Edward explains Tiberius suffered brain damage after falling off a horse when he was seven.  He became unpredictable, and as he grew older, taller and stronger, the family couldn’t cope, and he was admitted to a psychiatric hospital under a false name to ‘protect the family’.”  James didn’t hide his revulsion.  “He was ten the first time, which ties in with what you told me Titus said.  He _was_ as good as dead to the family.  He was in and out of the hospital over the years, and after Helena’s murder the family had him committed indefinitely.”  
  
“Your father knew Tiberius killed Helena.” Lewis was gobsmacked.  
  
“Oh, he knew more than that.  He helped Augustus bury her.”  
  
“And he never told anyone?”  Lewis jerked up in the chair, causing it to clatter against the filing cabinet.  
  
James shook his head in disgust.  “The family struck a deal with him.  Augustus’s father, the Marquess Tigan the Eleventh, Julius, bought his silence with money and a promise to give me every advantage.  My father agreed, on the condition Augustus kept his distance from me as well.  He was aware of his preference for young children and, although my father didn’t really care for me, he was adamant, and I quote, ‘there are no queers in my family and my son won’t be the first’.  Edward refers to a written agreement, signed by all three men – Julius, Augustus, and himself – and they each kept a copy.  He notes it was quite detailed, right down to my place at boarding school when I was twelve.  He saw it as a way to get rid of me.”  
  
“Does he say if his copy – any copy – still exists?”  
  
“No.  But when you consider no-one knew a thing until the skeletons were unearthed, you have to accept it did.  No one party could reveal the truth without implicating himself.”  
  
“How the hell did your father, the estate manager, get one over the Mortmaignes?”  James had asked himself the same question.  
  
“He doesn’t say.  It’s only a guess, but he possibly had something else, something worse, to hold over their heads.”  
  
“Worse than murder?”  
  
James shrugged.  “I know.  It seems ludicrous, but these people think differently to you and me.  To them, an illegitimate heir running around Oxford would have been far worse than the murder of a housemaid.”  
  
Lewis slumped back in his chair.  James knew exactly how he felt.  
  
“When Julius died the following year and Augustus inherited, the agreement stood.  Augustus tried to bluff Edward, thinking he could get to me.  Edward pointed out Augustus had a hell of a lot more to lose than he did, which he’d swiftly find out if he laid one finger on me.  Edward would claim he became involved under duress.  If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from this journal, it’s that my father was more clever and cunning than I’d ever given him credit for.”  
  
“So what happened to Tiberius?  How did he end up next to Helena ten years later?”  
  
“After I left for school – Damn him!  He lied about where the money for my fees came from, and he used my mother in the lie.”   
  
James rubbed his hands roughly up and down his thighs and took several deep breaths to control his anger.   
  
“Once I was safely out of the way at school, Edward tried to turn his back on Augustus’s behaviour, but even he reached his limits.  However, instead of doing what he could to put a stop to it, he blackmailed Mortmaigne: he’d stay silent about the continuing abuse if Mortmaigne would help him emigrate to Canada, and provide enough funds to keep me safely in school until I turned eighteen, and for him to establish a new life overseas.  What no-one anticipated was Tiberius turning up on the estate a month before my father was due to fly out.  It’s not clear if he escaped or managed to get himself released.  Edward never mentions what name he was admitted under, but it may be possible to trace it, if necessary.”  
  
James swung around to his desk for his water bottle and took a long, slow drink.   
  
“Tiberius’s death was an accident.  Edward saw him and Augustus arguing in the summer house.  Tiberius stepped backwards, missed the step and fell, cracking his head against the stones.  Edward was called up to help bury the body.  It wasn’t a conscious choice to use the lilac grove again.  It was simply the most expedient.”  
  
“And then he left?”  
  
James nodded.  “And that was that.  Money for my school fees was placed in an account administered by the school, Edward was thousands of miles away, and Tiberius could no longer cause trouble for the family.”  
  
They sat silently for some time.  James began to feel uncomfortable under Lewis’s scrutiny.   
  
“You realise everything you’ve told me will have to be written up for the CPS?”  
  
“Yes, and I’m aware there’s a risk I’ll take some flak over this from those who believe the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.  It doesn’t matter.  The truth has to come out for the sake of Helena and her family.  Speaking of which, it may be best if I don’t have any further contact with them unless they want to see me.”  
  
“Can you start on the reports?  I’ll go and have a word with Innocent.”  
  
“Wait, please, sir.  There’s more.”  James grasped Lewis’s hand.  “I, ah...  He wrote a letter of sorts to me in the final pages of the notebook.  I considered... The book will become evidence and I don’t want those pages to be part of it.  Technically, the book’s my property, and...”  
  
“Is it relevant to the case?”  
  
“In part... perhaps.”  
  
Lewis covered James’s hand.  “James, do you want to tell me, let me make the call?”  
  
James trusted Lewis to make the best decision, and, whatever the fall-out, he was confident Lewis would stand behind him as he would stand behind Lewis.  
  
“He _was_ keeping tabs on me, and events at Crevecoeur.  When he read the news reports online about the deaths of Stephen Black and Ralph Grahame, and the subsequent arrest of Augustus and Scarlett, he felt some relief.  He thought he’d finally be able to return to England.  When he read a DS James Hathaway had been shot during the arrest, he scoured further, looking for a photograph.  When he saw his own face looking out from the screen, he knew he would never return to Oxford.  The knowledge I had not only returned to Oxford but was now a police officer sickened him.”  
  
James took another long drink.  
  
“He was the one who hid the box in the fireplace.  He didn’t want to hide it anywhere inside Lodge Farm, as he suspected Mortmaigne would have it searched.  It was to be his insurance if Mortmaigne ever reneged on the agreement.  He’d intended to reclaim it before he left for Canada but had been thwarted each time he tried.  Depending on what plans the developers had for that part of the hall, it may have been many more years before it came to light.”  
  
James handed the book to Lewis.  “I’ve tabbed the critical passages.”  
  
“Of course you have.”  
  
James swung back to his computer and Lewis squeezed his shoulder as he left for Innocent’s office.  
  
*****  
  
Lewis returned from Innocent’s office with orders for both of them to call it a day.  
  
“...and you might want to put these somewhere safe.”  Lewis held out several pages of notepaper, with James’s yellow tab still attached.  “Innocent doesn’t know.  If anyone ever asks, the pages were missing when the book arrived.”  
  
James shoved the pages into his trouser pocket.  He’d burn them when he got home.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“For what?”  Lewis gave him a look of feigned innocence.  
  
“Understood, sir.”  
  
Lewis pulled his jacket on, and gestured to James to do the same.  
  
“It’s a good thing I went to see Innocent on me own.  I think if you’d been there she would have forced hot sweet tea on you.  Let’s get you out of here before she decides to come down and make sure I’ve followed orders.  Innocent as a mother hen is something I’m not ready to see.”  
  
“You’re exaggerating,” James scoffed, though from the look on Lewis’s face, he wasn’t completely sure.  “Should we stop for takeaway or at Tesco’s on the way?”  
  
*****  
  
Lewis had won the toss and opted for Chinese and a four-pack of Abingdon Bridge.  He washed up the dishes while James combined the remaining food into one container.  Monty batted at the empty takeaway containers on the bench, and only James’s quick reflexes saved the floor from a major spill of sweet and sour sauce.  With the empty containers and two empty bottles consigned to the bin, James took the remaining two beers through to the front room and looked for a movie to watch.  
  
“Found anything?”  Lewis picked up one of the beers and, pushing Monty to one side, sat down on the couch.  Monty claimed his lap.  
  
“ _Poltergeist_?”  
  
“Haven’t you had enough?”  
  
“It’s ghosts or _Strictly Come Dancing_.”  
  
“Give us the ghosts.”  
  
James wedged himself between Lewis and the arm of the couch, and was delighted when Monty moved onto his lap.  
  
“Things are looking up if Monty’s not afraid of me anymore.”  
  
“He’s only looking for more food.  He knows he won’t get any more from me.”  
  
“You could be right.  He’s giving me the ‘feed me’ look.”  
  
“Every look’s his ‘feed me’ look.  Ignore him.  He’ll give up soon and go prowling.”  
  
James slumped down a little further in his seat and put his feet up on the table.  Monty rolled onto his back, practically begging James to rub his tummy.  
  
  
  
Lewis’s attention wasn’t completely on the movie nor, he suspected, was James’s.  About ten minutes later, James pushed himself up in the seat, dropping Monty unceremoniously to the floor, and put his empty bottle on the table.  
  
“You know, it’s no wonder Helena attacked me.  My father not only covered up her death, he took blood money.  She probably thought I’d grown up to be just like him – willing to hide a brutal truth for personal gain – and did everything she could to keep me away from the evidence and the case so I wouldn’t have the opportunity to interfere with it.”  
  
“It would be motivation enough for me.”  
  
James looked at Lewis hopefully.  
  
“I can accept something has happened to you, James – something I can’t begin to understand – but I never saw her.  I trust the evidence of my own eyes.  I’m sorry.”  
  
“How do _you_ explain my injuries?  Do you think I did it to myself?” James asked curiously.  
  
“Nightmares and night terrors can be violent, James.  You could have got the bruising when you were thrashing yourself around on the floor, and the scratches could have been made by Monty when he was trapped in your room; he would have been frightened.”  
  
“And my back?  The welts and gouges?”  Lewis took comfort from James’s calm and rational manner; he wouldn’t have expected anything less.  “How did I get those?”  
  
“I don’t know.  Maybe it was like Laura said before – mind over matter.  You thought you were being... whipped with a belt buckle and your body somehow created the injuries.”  
  
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” James asked gently.  
  
“No,” Lewis replied after a long pause.  “But I’m not jumping to conclusions I can’t accept either.  Maybe ghosts are real and maybe they’re not.  I’m not trying to downplay anything that’s happened, but I can’t bring myself to accept they’re real.”  
  
“What about the misplaced box in evidence?  Do you think it could have been... supernatural?”  
  
“We never did get a match to what they thought were partial fingerprints.  Perhaps if Helena’s prints had been on record we may have had proof.  But we don’t.  It could simply have been sloppy processes, and it wouldn’t be the first time a power surge knocked out the CCTV in that part of the building – the whole place needs major work.”  
  
“Why do you think my father suddenly appeared and beat me?”  
  
Lewis scratched his head in frustration.  “Maybe...  because you were still working with the evidence even after she'd bruised and beaten you.  If you weren't scared of her, perhaps you'd be scared of your father.  James…”  Lewis exhaled in defeat.  “I don't know.  Sometimes I can't understand why people do the things they do, even with concrete evidence and their own words before me.  How can I adequately understand something I didn’t see and don’t really believe in?  Whatever it was, James, it’s over.”  
  
James laid his head back against the couch.  “Yes, it well and truly is.”


	17. Friday

With no-one left to file charges against, James completed the necessary paperwork and filed the case with the CPS purely for review.  The anti-climax left him feeling very unsatisfied.  Tiberius’s remains had been released the day before, and Marcus Cooke was due at the morgue very soon.   
  
James had planned to meet Titus at the morgue, only to be told by Laura the task had been delegated to a funeral director.  Titus had washed his hands of the whole affair.  
  
Lewis had left the office barely five minutes earlier to meet Marcus Cooke, and James chewed at his thumbnail.  Lewis was going to take Cooke aside privately and explain the entire story, including James’s father’s participation.  Though he knew he didn’t carry any of the blame for what had happened, James still felt nervous about Cooke’s response and that of the rest of Helena’s family.  Grief and mourning could alter the most reasonable of people.  
  
James welcomed the distraction when his phone rang.  He called Julie in immediately after he ended the conversation.  
  
*****  
  
James was absentmindedly stirring his tea and staring out of the break room window when he felt the touch against his elbow.  Lewis stood beside him looking more at peace than he’d expected.  
  
“Did anything interesting happen while I was out, or have you been standing here the whole time, stirring tea?”  
  
James returned the relaxed smile.  Today seemed to be looking up – or Lewis was preparing to break bad news to him gently.  James chose to stay positive.  
  
“Helena Cooke’s missing person’s report has come to light.  It was located in a misplaced box at central records – along with another two hundred reports.”  
  
“Two hundred?” Lewis muttered, aghast.  Bloody hell.”  
  
“With luck they’ll fill the ten-week gap which was identified.  God knows when they would have come to light if we hadn’t been looking for Helena’s.  I’ve assigned Julie to review them.”  
  
“Here’s hoping most of them can be marked ‘case closed’.”  
  
“I’ll drink to that.”  James raised his mug.  
  
Lewis tipped his head towards the door.  “Can you come back to the office?  There’s something I need to let you know.”  
  
 _Oh, crap,_ James thought.  
  
Lewis shut the door and waved James towards his desk.  
  
“This could be awkward, and you should know you’re under no obligation.  Marcus has asked us – you and me – to attend Helena’s funeral next week.  They’d planned to ask before I met with him, but when Marcus heard the details about your father, he felt you were as much a victim as his family and Helena.  He hopes by being there, you might be able to find some resolution for yourself.  There’s no rush.  I told him I’d let him know by next Thursday, and he’ll understand if you don’t want to attend.”  
  
James certainly hadn’t expected such a response and needed time to process it.  
  
“Will you be going?” James asked.  
  
“I always feel a bit awkward attending funerals for someone I didn’t know, but I’ll go to support you.”  
  
James managed a small smile and nod.  
  
*****  
  
The day passed in that slow, murky way piecemeal work days always do and James almost sighed with relief when 5pm arrived.   
  
“Pint and dinner, tonight, I think James.  We haven’t been to the pub in ages.”  
  
“’Paper, scissors, stone’ to see who drives?”  
  
“Best of three.”  
  
*****  
  
James regretted sticking to ‘stone’.  He’d had one pint with his pie and chips, then it was back to tonic water on the rocks, while Lewis had been able to take advantage of an offer to try a new draught ale for free.  In hindsight, however, it probably wasn’t a bad thing.  His two beers earlier in the week had left him more lightheaded than normal.  
  
“How is it?”  James tipped his chin towards the glass.  
  
“A bit too drinkable, if you get my drift, and it’s got a bit of a kick.”  Lewis put the half-full glass down and pushed it to the middle of the table.  “Reckon I’ll pace meself.”  
  
James put his own glass down and ran his finger along a groove etched into the table top,  
  
“I’ve been thinking about your offer – to move in.  I’d like to.”  
  
Lewis beamed at him.  “Best news I’ve had today.  When can you contact your landlord, and how soon can you move in?”  
  
“I can probably catch him tomorrow, and I can pretty much move anytime.”  
  
“Which bedroom did you want?”  
  
James turned the glass around on the table.  “I’m happy in the room I was sleeping in.  I prevaricated because, for some foolish reason, I got the wrong end of the stick and thought you meant sharing... a bedroom.”  He blushed lightly and Lewis blinked rapidly.  
  
“That explains a hell of a lot.  I couldn’t figure out why you looked so disappointed when you thought I was asking you when you were leaving, but looked shocked when I asked you to stay.”  
  
“I’m going to blame it on a lack of sleep  Hopefully I’ll never be so tired ever again – or at least, not for a very long time.”  
  
“I’m pleased it’s past, too.”  Lewis regarded him carefully.  “Once you’ve moved in, maybe you’ll be able to call me Robbie away from work.”  
  
James cocked his head to one side, giving Lewis a cheeky grin.  “Oh, I’m not so sure about that, _sir_.”

 


	18. Friday - one week later

Dressed in boxers and a white shirt, James stared into the wardrobe trying to choose between the dark grey or the black suit.  It was a funeral, so traditionally the black made sense, but he always felt like a waiter when he wore it.  At least he had his entire to wardrobe to choose from, having moved his clothes, books and CDs to the house the previous weekend; they would move the rest of his possessions this weekend.    
  
He’d only decided he would go to Helena’s funeral the day before, and Lewis had called Marcus Cooke immediately.   Now it was nearly time to go, he wasn’t as comfortable with his decision.  
  
“Aren’t you dressed yet?”  Lewis stood in the doorway, fastening his cuff.  
  
“Ten minutes,” James replied, pulling out the dark grey suit.  “How many surveillance officers are going to be there today?  The media sicken me on days like this.”  
  
Between the fire, the redevelopment, and the skeletons, any item linked in any way to Crevecoeur was being exploited by both the newspapers and television.  Having been thwarted by Titus refusing to hold a public funeral, attention had focussed on the Cookes, to the point where a uniformed officer was now stationed outside their home.  
  
“There’ll be two officers at the main gates, and four others located at strategic points around the grave site, giving it three hundred and sixty degree coverage.  It’ll be a right sneaky bastard who gets past them.”  
  
*****  
  
When James first saw Helena’s mother at the graveside, he was torn between sorrow for her loss, and relief she knew what had happened to her daughter.  She was frail, but held her head high as she clung to Marcus.  James guessed her age to be close to eighty, and he could barely begin to imagine what she was feeling.  
  
As the service had proceeded, James watched fascinated as she seemed to gather strength, standing straight and proud as she threw her rose into the grave.  Her face radiated acceptance and peace.  James had seen the same response in other family members at funerals over the years, and always wondered why it happened to some and not others.  Neither Marcus nor his sister, who was standing on the other side of their mother, had responded in the same way  
  
  
  
The service had barely concluded when Hooper quietly approached James to advise him a man had been detained, having been caught hiding behind a large gravestone, rapidly taking consecutive images with a telephoto lens.  Three others had been stopped at various points around the cemetery.  
  
“Bloody vultures,” Lewis muttered when James informed him.  
  
They escorted the family to the waiting car, and headed back to the station as soon as the family had departed.  
  
*****  
  
James looked in on the photographer, who had been placed in an interview room primarily to make him sweat.  There were only a few possible charges they could lay against him, and it would come down to what images were found on the memory card, and whether or not they could prove how he entered the cemetery.  At best, James suspected they might get him for vandalising a fence or gate to gain access.  
  
There was a light tap, and the door to the interview room opened.  
  
“Are you going to stare daggers at him all afternoon?”  Lewis joined him by the two-way window.  “Gurdip called.  He wants our advice on the images off that tosser’s camera.  He sounded a bit odd, not his usual cheery self.”  
  
  
  
Gurdip was hovering in the hallway when James and Lewis reached the top of the stairs, and looked relieved to see them.  
  
“I was working on material from a couple of the surveillance teams, and I was asked to look at the memory card from the camera of the bloke they arrested.  I saw something which...  It’s best you see for yourselves, sirs.”   
  
They followed him to his workstation where a camera was connected to the computer.  Gurdip directed them to another laptop first.  
  
“These images are from the surveillance team member who was situated almost directly opposite the bloke downstairs.”  There were a few photos showing James and Lewis facing the camera, and capturing a rear view of the Cooke family.  
  
“That was just before the priest started the service,” James pointed out.  “See, there’s the dog which ran through.”  A small white terrier was disappearing down the hill.  “He took off like a rocket for no apparent reason.”  
  
Gurdip touched the camera.  “This is the photographer’s camera.  It’s a top of the line piece of equipment and the telephoto lens is high quality.  When I downloaded the images, it appeared the camera had been damaged when he was arrested; so I took some test shots to check.”  
  
He brought up a series of images and zoomed in.  The level of detail was exceptional.  
  
“As you can see, they’re perfect.”  
  
James picked up the camera and rotated it, taking care not to detach the cable.  “What made you think there was a problem?”  
  
Gurdip switched between windows.   
  
“That.”  
  
Between Marcus and his mother was a burst of light, as though someone had set off a flash behind them at the exact moment the photograph was taken.  
  
“I know what it looks like and I checked: none of the surveillance teams used a flash.  But it gets stranger, sirs.”  
  
Gurdip began to scroll through the images.  With each subsequent exposure, the flash began to decrease in size while maintaining its intensity.   Within twenty consecutive images, it had taken on definition.   There was now what appeared to be another figure standing behind Marcus and his mother.  
  
“Can you zoom in on her face, Gurdip?”  James was afraid to speak too loudly.   
  
“ _Her face_?”  
  
“Please, Gurdip.”  James couldn’t take his eyes off the monitor.  “Do you see it, sir?”  
  
“I see a light, James, nothing more, nothing less.”  
  
James gently pushed Gurdip’s hand away from the touch pad.  Zooming back out he continued to move through the images.  With a small jolt of satisfaction, he heard Lewis gasp.  
  
“Now do you see?”  
  
“Aye.”  Lewis’s awed whisper said far more than the single word.  
  
There was now no denying the form between Marcus and his mother was a woman.  James zoomed in and could discern her features.  He regretted not having the photograph of Helena at hand, but he would show Lewis later.  It was Helena.  
  
As James moved further through the images, he could follow the progress of the service by the priest’s actions, and by the physical changes in Mrs Cooke.  As each member of the family threw a rose into the grave, the woman’s form faded until there was only a shimmering surrounding Mrs Cooke like a halo.  
  
James touched his fingers lightly to the screen.   
  
“Goodbye, Helena.”  


**Author's Note:**

> Title from Salman Rushdie, The Satanic Verses  
>  _Now I know what a ghost is. Unfinished business, that’s what._
> 
> This started as a very different, shorter story, with a kind ghost, and somewhere along the way it became this.


End file.
